Thunderstruck
by Supernova Dragon Cat
Summary: 1980's AU. Hair Metal/Arena Rock SanSan. Straight-laced and a yuppie in the making, Sansa is dragged to a metal concert by Arya and Gendry where she captures the eye of the guitarist of the band Cannibal Star. Crude and lewd, Sandor is everything Sansa was certain she didn't want. Even with this unlikely match, sparks fly and misadventures ensue as they try to get their two world.
1. Thunderstruck

To ADK_SanSan:

After discussing our love of 80's/90's arena rock, we both agreed that we could see Sandor as an arena/metal rocker. This got my mind going and I decided that I had to write an 80's arena/metal rock SanSan fic!

This is circa 1987 so be prepared for loads of 80's references (although I was only alive for a whopping four years in the '80's).

Each chapter will get its title from an amazing hairband/rock/metal song from this time period.

A special thanks to mendedheart1 for beta'ing this fic!

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**Thunderstruck**

Chapter One

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"What's the name of this band again?" Sansa asked for the umpteenth time, still only half paying attention as she flipped open her powder compact and applied a layer of sheer, cherry flavored lip gloss. In a rainbow of rippling colors, the city lights were reflected on the Chicago River and cascaded by her as Sansa's eyes flickered out the window of Gendry's '69 Firebird, his pride and joy.

Arya sighed audibly in the front seat as she swiveled around to face Sansa, a look of utter annoyance plastered on her face.

"Cannibal Star! I've told you, like, five thousand times."

Her little sister, although hardly little anymore at sixteen years of age, rolled her eyes in mock exasperation but quickly conceded. Sansa was doing her a tremendous favor, and Arya knew it. In fact, she had begged and pleaded with Sansa to come and even offered to do Sansa's chores for the next week if she agreed, just this once, to help her out.

Last weekend, Arya had been caught, once again, sneaking out to meet up with Gendry, a boy her parents didn't quite approve of. Although three years older than Arya, Gendry was a nice guy and had a good job at the steel mill. If he was a college student working hard to secure a future as a boring accountant or pompous Wall Street broker, Sansa doubted her parents would have had such a problem with him. Even she had to admit it was a little unfair. Either way, Arya's rebelliousness had gotten her grounded despite Gendry having procured tickets and backstage passes to their favorite metal band.

Their father had been adamant that Arya wouldn't be allowed to go. It was part of her punishment for not only breaking curfew but also sneaking out to meet up with Gendry. Arya had whined and complained all week, slowly breaking down her parents' resolve instead of quietly accepting her punishment, as Sansa was apt to do. Per usual, their mother relented first after Arya had sucked up to her, buttering their mom up with compliments and help around the house until she agreed to discuss the matter with their father.

He was harder to convince, but after a lengthy discussion between the parental unit, their father had begrudgingly conceded to letting Arya attend the concert under one condition: Sansa had to go with Arya and Gendry, a chaperone of sorts, although she was only two years older than Arya. Regardless, Sansa was the responsible daughter, always trying to politely follow the rules and make as little waves as possible. Her reward for that was having to "escort" her sister to some stupid metal concert.

"Did you have to dress like a goddamn yuppie?" Arya huffed as she stared at Sansa, looking mortified that she'd have to be seen with her prim and proper sister.

Looking down for a cursory evaluation of her outfit, Sansa didn't quite see what the problem was. In fact, she thought she looked quite nice; even their mother had said so. Sansa had chosen a pleated skirt in her favorite shade of baby blue, a sensible white blouse, and a soft pink sweater. Perhaps tying the sweater around her neck was a bit much, but the night was bound to grow chilly and she didn't want to be without something to cover up with. Besides, who knew what sort of freak shows would be roaming around the place they were going. She didn't want to be too exposed.

"Arya, I really wish you'd watch your mouth," Sansa sighed as she tucked away her compact and lip gloss into her cross body purse. "Did you two have to dress like Sid and Nancy?" she added as she motioned her head towards the front seat.

"That's quite a compliment. Thanks, Sansa," Gendry beamed as he caught Sansa's eyes in the rear view mirror. He had teased his hair almost as much as Arya, except his hair, much to Arya's chagrin, was a few inches longer than hers and fell below his shoulders. Sansa had had to stifle a laugh as she watched the two of them pass the Aqua Net back and forth while perfecting their coifs in Gendry's bathroom mirror.

"She didn't mean it as a compliment, dummy!" Arya chided playfully as she whacked Gendry across the arm. The boy responded by winking at her, and the two of them exchanged a laugh across the center console. Sansa had to admit, they were a cute couple and she was happy for her sister. Although her own relationship with Joff had gone to hell in a hand basket, Sansa held out hope that perhaps she'd find someone she could share a genuine connection with, as Arya shared with Gendry.

Parking in downtown Chicago on a Friday night was an absolute nightmare, and Sansa groaned in frustration when Gendry finally parked the car on a side street about ten blocks away from the concert venue. Killing the engine, Gendry shifted his eyes between Sansa and Arya.

"Ladies, we'll have to trek it through the mean streets of Chi-Town," he declared with a grin before jumping from the car.

_Let's get this night over with,_Sansa groaned internally before rolling her eyes and pushing the door open with a sigh. She had never heard of Cannibal Star or whatever this band was called, but if it was anything like the music she had heard blaring from Arya's walkman, Sansa knew she was going to hate it. Conversely, Arya hated Sansa's music too and was constantly making fun of her for singing along to her Madonna or Cyndi Lauper tapes.

After walking five blocks, Sansa regretted wearing the blue pumps Margaery lent her. While the heel wasn't particularly high, the leather around the sides was digging painfully into her skin, rubbing it raw with each step. Ahead of her, Arya and Gendry were chatting excitedly as they rattled off all the songs they hoped were on the set list. _"Gravedigger", "The Hounds of Hell", "Meat for the Butcher with the Sword"__. _Those had been but a few of the ones Sansa had overheard them gushing about. After that, she had stopped listening and instead started an internal countdown of when this night would be over with.

As they neared the concert venue, Sansa could see people gathered in line outside, shifting restlessly from side to side while they waited for the doors to open. Most were garbed in black from head to toe, hair teased wildly and with shit-kicking boots on their feet. Even Arya looked the part with her torn up jeans over a pair of sheer black tights, leather cowboy boots, and a leather jacket which covered a tattered looking Cannibal Star T-shirt she had borrowed from Gendry, who was dressed almost identically to his girlfriend.

Both Arya and Gendry seemed to have read Sansa's mind as they stopped one block short of the venue.

Shucking out of her leather jacket, Arya balled it up and shoved it towards Sansa.

"You're going to stick out like a sore thumb. Here. Put this on before you get laughed out of the venue."

Hesitating, Sansa shot Gendry a pleading look.

"This is, like, embarrassing to the max," she whimpered.

Whatever sympathy Sansa hoped to gain from Gendry was lost as he grasped her by the shoulders and gave a soft squeeze.

"Sansa, you know I like you, but if you get laughed out of the building, Arya and I are going to have to pretend we don't know you. I busted my ass to get these backstage passes."

By busted his ass, he meant incessantly calling into the local classic rock station while they were giving out tickets and backstage passes to the show. As luck would have it, Gendry was eventually the one-hundredth caller and snagged the tickets he had spent so long rambling on about.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it," Sansa sighed before loosening her Izod cardigan from around her neck and tying it firmly around her waist. As she slipped into the heavy leather jacket, she had to admit it was warm and didn't quite call so much attention to her as the sweater did. Regardless, she'd hardly blend into the crowd and was bound to get stares anyway.

The doors of the venue had just been opened as they approached, the concert goers howling and shouting out wildly with delight as they were slowly shuffled into the building. By the time Sansa, Arya, and Gendry made it to the front of the line, the din of the crowd was already pouring through the doors, intermingling on the haze of cigarette smoke which cast the room in a dull, dingy glow.

"I need to see some ID," the heavyset bouncer abruptly barked out, appearing annoyed as he stared at the line which extended behind them and still wrapped around the building. Sansa's heart skipped a beat. Arya was still a minor, and there was no way this no-nonsense bouncer was going to let her through. As Sansa was about to turn to Arya with a feigned look of sympathy at having to call the night short, her sister nonchalantly produced an Illinois driver's license with the picture of a woman Sansa did not recognize.

Arya hardly seemed fazed, even as the bouncer shined a flash light on it and flickered his eyes up to study Arya's face. Handing the ID back, the bouncer let Arya through. After showing her ID and being waved through, Sansa caught up with her sister.

"Since when do you have a fake ID?" Sansa asked incredulously, although it didn't quite surprise her.

"Since I started dating a guy who knows a guy who makes kickass fake IDs," Arya replied, seemingly satisfied with herself as she flashed a smile at Gendry who only shrugged his shoulders in return.

The inside of the venue was a sea of writhing bodies, all packed in as close to the stage as possible. The room was dimly lit with red lights glowing like embers from wall sconces. Adjacent to the stage was a bar extending the length of the wall and manned by two individuals covered in tattoos and sporting severe scowls as they served up beverages to the rowdy crowd.

Sansa scanned the room. With their studded accessories, various articles of tight leather clothing, and teased out hair, every individual appeared as though they had just come off the set of a Judas Priest or Iron Maiden music video. Even with the leather jacket, there was no hiding that Sansa didn't belong here. Tapping her sister on the shoulder to get her attention, Sansa pointed towards the wall opposite from the bar.

"I'm going to stand over there."

"Sansa, come up front with Gendry and I," Arya pleaded as she took Sansa's hand and tried to pull her towards the crowd gathered in front of the stage.

"Arya, no. I really don't want to," Sansa whined as she pulled her hand away. The last thing she wanted was to get caught up in a mosh pit and ruin her clothes. Besides, her feet were killing her where the shoes had rubbed her raw.

Rolling her eyes and growling out her frustration, Arya threw her hands up in the air.

"Fine! Be a boring, yuppie prude, Sansa. One of these days, I'm going to break you out of your shell."

Thankful that her sister relented, Sansa shouldered her way through the crowd, ignoring the intermittent cat calls and lewd stares as she went. She perched herself against the far wall and was surprised to find that she had a decent view of the stage, not that that mattered much. Mindlessly, she picked at her nails, trying to occupy herself the best she could. Her mind wandered to what she _should_be doing right now. Margaery had invited her to Loras' surprise birthday party, a fete which was being thrown at a swanky restaurant downtown and was courtesy of the Tyrell family's extraordinary wealth. Her friend had begged her to bail on Arya and spend the evening eating, drinking, and dancing the night away. As much as Sansa would have rather attended Loras' party, she didn't have the heart to blow her sister off. Besides, Joffrey was likely to be in attendance at the party, and Sansa wasn't quite sure she was ready to be in the same room as him just yet.

Her thoughts were swiftly interrupted as the sound of a bass drum reverberated through her chest, and the lights of the venue steadily lowered until the room was cast in complete darkness. Everyone in the building seemed to simultaneously gasp before a hush fell over the crowd. Clear as a bell, an undulating guitar riff sounded out over the speakers, eliciting cheers from the concert goers. After a few bars of the riff, a low, guttural singing echoed through the room as the song slowed slightly in its tempo until the room fell silent again. The energy of the building had turned electric, the crowd had steadily pushed forward, and tension seemed to rise as the silence wore on and smoke rippled across the stage.

Once more, the bass drum pounded through the room along with two guitars, now dueling through complicated riffs. As soon as the singer's voice pierced through the darkness once more, lights flashed against the stage, illuminating the band as they seemed to emerge from the smoke. The crowd broke into deafening cheers as the rhythm of the song picked up. The room seemed to move in unison with the beat, rocking and swaying with each pound of the drums. Standing on her tippy-toes, Sansa could see Gendry and Arya up front, their hair whipping to and fro as they head banged to the song.

Sansa had been to concerts before, but never had she ever felt as though her ear drums might burst open. The music was beyond deafening. Sansa could hardly hear the thoughts in her own head as the song wore on and the crowd belted out every last word. The lead singer sauntered around the stage clothed in quite possibly the tightest leather pants known to man. Sansa imagined the singer had been sewn into them, and exhaled a laugh at the thought. That was what she didn't understand about this type of music; these men fancied themselves hard and tough yet wore clothes tighter than any woman would, and some even wore make up.

Sizing up each member of the band, Sansa could see they fit the bill for most metal bands: obnoxious leather outfits, hair teased to the high heavens, and a few wearing heavy black eyeliner. However, one band member stood out from the rest. Situated on the right side of the stage nearest to the wall where Sansa was perched, this man's form was lurking in the fleeting shadows of the stage.

Her attention was drawn back to the lead singer as the song came to a gradual end.

"Thank you, Chicago!" the singer belted out in falsetto before laughing into the microphone. "We're happy to end this tour back in our hometown. Make some noise for Cannibal Star!"

Before the singer could finish, the crowd erupted into more cheers as the next song set in, quickly drowning out the horde and beckoning a steady pressure to build in Sansa's head. Blessedly, the song began to slow after awhile, and the drums seemed to fall away a bit. The musician who had been lurking in the shadows stepped forward, drawing the undivided attention of the crowd as he set into a wailing guitar solo.

Mesmerized like all the rest, Sansa found herself staring at him. He was quite possibly the tallest man she had ever seen, towering over his band mates who were by no means short in stature. The black guitar was dwarfed in his hands, and yet he played with an intricate delicacy, his fingers moving deftly up and down the strings.

Unlike all the others, his hair wasn't teased, but instead fell in raven black waves past his shoulders. With a curtain of hair around his face, Sansa couldn't quite make out his features until his head fell back with eyes closed as he reached the climax of his solo. His features were decidedly masculine: a strong jaw line, heavy brow, and hooked nose.

Sansa felt the heat hit her cheeks as she took in the sight of him. He wasn't wearing a shirt, only tight fitting black leather pants paired with Doc Martens. His chest and abdomen were a chiseled expanse of taut muscles which rippled beneath his skin. Much like the rest of him, his arms were sculpted to perfection, his biceps and triceps defined in thick swathes of muscle. Sansa couldn't take her eyes off of him and instead found that her stare seemed magnetized towards him.

The man opened his eyes as his solo waned behind the steady increase of drum beats. Immediately, his gaze fell on Sansa, and she could have sworn he was staring straight at her. She expected his eyes to roam away. Surely, hers was just another face in the crowd, and that was if he could even make out any faces in the crowd. However, his eyes remained glued to hers in a heavy stare as his hand continued to move up and down the guitar neck.

Flustered, Sansa shifted her gaze over her shoulder, certain he had locked eyes with someone else. Finding the space behind her empty, Sansa turned her attention forward once more. The intensity of his stare was still on her, and now certain members of the crowd seemed to notice as they, much like she had, turned around to see who he was looking at. Letting her eyes drift up to his, Sansa felt her lips part as she pulled in a shaky breath. The corner of the man's mouth pulled into a smug half-smile as he turned away. With the left side of his face now visible, Sansa let out a gasp. It was a disfigured mass of burned flesh extending from his forehead down to the middle of his cheek. Locks of his black hair feebly covered perhaps the worst of it, but the effect was still horrifying.

Turning around once more, the good side of the man's face was now visible to Sansa again, and when his stare landed squarely on her, she couldn't help but lower her eyes. His scars were repulsive, that was for sure, but that wasn't quite why she turned her stare away. Swallowing hard, she felt a small fluttering sensation originate from the pit of her stomach. She didn't want him to keep staring at her, and yet when she lifted her eyes again and found he was no longer looking at her, Sansa felt a sliver of disappointment well up within her.

For the remainder of the concert, Sansa watched him, but he never again returned her stare. After a lengthy encore, the band retreated from the stage. _Good. We can go home now. _As Arya came bounding up to her, out of breath and covered in a layer of sweat, Sansa remembered the backstage passes and felt her temporary joy evaporate.

"Fuck yeah, that was awesome!" Arya screeched, her voice hoarse from screaming and shouting along to the music.

Gendry quickly fell in next to Arya, equally as out of breath yet looking as though he were on cloud nine.

"Did you have a good time?" Gendry breathed as he gulped for air.

Unbidden, Sansa's mind flashed to images of the guitarist and the way he had been looking - no, _staring _- at her.

"Yeah. It wasn't so bad, I guess," she replied, although her head was pounding, and she could already tell her hair and clothes reeked like cigarette smoke.

After a majority of the crowd cleared from the building, Sansa followed behind Arya and Gendry as they were led by one of the band aides down a hallway and towards what Sansa imagined was "backstage". As they approached the door, Gendry turned an apologetic stare towards Sansa.

"We only have two backstage passes. I'm sorry, kiddo," Gendry murmured regretfully, although Sansa found herself relieved by the news. _What if I run into that guitarist? No, I don't want that. _

"That's fine," Sansa assured Gendry and Arya with a smile. "I'll just wait out here. Have fun."

As the two disappeared behind the door labeled _Employees Only_, Sansa headed down the hallway a bit further towards an exit door. A bit of fresh air sounded a lot better than hanging out with a bunch of greasy, hairy metal dudes anyway. As she was about to push through the door, Sansa heard loud squeals coming from the other end of the corridor. Turning over her shoulder, she saw a group of girls heading towards the backstage area. With short skirts, high heels, and pounds of make up on, each one seemed more scantily clad than the next. Rolling her eyes, Sansa abruptly pushed through the door and hurried through, barreling into someone as she stepped outside. Tripping on her heels, Sansa began careening forward towards the ground until two hands reached out and gripped her firmly on her upper arms.

"I'm sorry!" Sansa exclaimed on a breathy exhale as she spun around. Her eyes were met with a man's broad chest, and as she lifted her eyes, Sansa realized her body was flush with the guitarist from the band.

"You're shaking. Do I frighten you that much, girl?" the man growled on a deep voice, the timbre seeming to match his size.

"N-no," Sansa stammered as she lowered her eyes and tried to wriggle from his grasp but to no avail. "You just startled me is all." It was a lie. His size was intimidating, and his face was gruesome.

Letting go of her arms, the man barked out a rough laugh as he settled himself to sit on the small set of stairs leading to the ground below.

"That's a lie if I've ever heard one," he remarked, equal parts bitter and amused. Sansa saw that he now had a black T-shirt on and a pair of torn up blue jeans.

She eyed the staircase he was sitting on and swallowed hard as she realized she would have gone tumbling down it had he not caught her. Sitting with the unburned side of his face visible to her, the guitarist took a long pull on a bottle of whiskey he had in his hand. She wondered if he was drunk, a thought which immediately filled her with dread. She didn't know this man, and they were alone outside together. Stepping away from him slightly, Sansa pressed her back against the wall extending adjacent from the man.

"You played very well tonight," Sansa spoke after a heavy silence had settled between them. She didn't quite know why she felt compelled to say that. It's not as if she owed this man a conversation or anything.

Once more, the man laughed; this time it was short and mirthless.

"As if you would know," the man mumbled as he stared out towards the parking lot that extended behind the building. "Did you get separated from the rest of the groupies?"

"I'm not a groupie!" Sansa blurted out, offended that he would even think that of her. "My sister and her boyfriend had backstage passes. I'm waiting on them."

Turning a stare towards her, the man let his eyes flicker up and down her body, stilling Sansa's breath with each pass and making her wish she could just melt into the wall to disappear.

"And you didn't want to go back there with them? A pretty little thing like you would've made it backstage just fine without a pass," the man mused as he continued to leer openly at her with a not-so-subtle half-smile pulling across the ruined side of his mouth.

"This isn't really my scene," Sansa replied as she pulled the leather jacket tight around her. When the man averted his gaze away from her, she let go of a breath she'd been holding.

"I can see that. I imagine you'd rather be at the mall, maxing out daddy's credit card, yeah?"

He was mocking her, Sansa knew. He assumed she was a certain type of girl, probably one of those Valley girls from California who were vapid and self-absorbed. The thought stung, although she didn't know why.

"Why aren't you back there with your band mates and the groupies?" Sansa shot back, hoping that he'd realize he was missing out and head back inside to leave her in peace.

"Not my scene," the man countered smugly as he turned an intense stare towards her. "Although, I'll probably fuck one of those groupies later. We'll see how the night goes," he added with a shrug of his shoulders as Sansa's mouth fell open. "You wouldn't know anything about that, though, by the looks of you."

If the condescension in his words wasn't infuriating enough, the implication was downright vulgar and none of his damn business besides. He was making her nervous, and Sansa toyed with the idea of turning around to go back inside. She could make something up about being cold or wanting to check on her sister; it would be that simple. However, she found herself rooted where she was.

"You're vile," Sansa retorted as she shifted her glare towards the parking lot. This was the perfect ending to a perfectly awful night.

"And you're a prude," the man jeered without hesitation. "You need to loosen up a bit. Here." Holding out his arm, the man offered her the bottle of whiskey, his eyes matched to hers in a heavy gaze.

Instead of looking away or averting her eyes, Sansa kept his stare and noticed for the first time that his eyes were pale grey in color.

"No, thank you," she murmured as butterflies inexplicably fluttered in her stomach. Licking her lips, Sansa finally broke the stare after it had lasted a handful of seconds longer than any normal glance should.

"Suit yourself," the man replied as he set the bottle down and leaned back with his elbows resting on the top step. Craning his neck up to look at her, the man once more seemed to be appraising her.

"You look like that red-headed broad. Can't think of her name," he noted.

Sighing, Sansa rolled her eyes. Ever since _"I Think We're Alone Now"_came out, she was constantly getting compared to the red-headed pop star.

"Tiffany? I look nothing like her," Sansa groaned, her typical reply. Somehow she found herself more annoyed than usual by the comparison. She didn't like the way he had assumed that all she did was hang out at the mall, spend her dad's money, and try to emulate Tiffany.

Sensing her annoyance, the man laughed, and Sansa imagined he was about to fire back some mocking jab at her.

"You're right. You're a hell of a lot cuter than her, but that's not who I was talking about."

Sansa felt her cheeks burning hot and the butterflies seemed to turn molten in her stomach as the heat spread throughout her body. After a long silence, the man snapped his fingers.

"Tawny Kitaen. That's who you look like," the man explained after the realization seemed to suddenly dawn on him.

Initially, the name didn't ring a bell until Sansa remembered the latest Whitesnake video and the buxom redhead doing the splits on top of a Jaguar. Just when she thought the blush to her cheeks couldn't get any deeper, Sansa felt a wave of embarrassment hit her.

Measuring her reaction with an amused smile, the man stared up at Sansa. This time it was he who licked his lips.

"Just sayin'. If you ever want to roll around on the hood of my Mustang in a skimpy dress, I wouldn't exactly stop you."

As the man broke into laughter, Sansa shook her head and was surprised to find a small laugh escape her own lips.

"I think I'll pass," she responded. When another silence dragged between them, Sansa fumbled with the sleeves of the jacket, clutching the ends tightly in her palms.

"What's your name?" she asked, wondering if he might be offended she didn't already know. Surely, this gave her away. She wasn't an adoring fan who already knew his name and everything else about him.

Somehow this seemed to strike a chord within him as he looked up at her with another half smile, although there was nothing bawdy about this particular one. Instead, there was a bit of appreciation to it.

"The Hound," he offered, his voice gruff and dark.

"No, your real name," Sansa pushed, assuming he had more than likely given her his stage name.

"My real name doesn't matter, not unless you plan on moaning it later while I'm in top of you."

Immediately, he swiveled his head up towards her, his mouth curled into a devilish smile and contorting his scars in a hideous manner. Initially, all Sansa could do was gasp in response. _Why does he have to be so crude?_Pouting, Sansa looked away. _Why are you still standing out here if he's so crude?_ The question lingered in her mind, and she didn't quite have the answer.

"I'm sorry. That was really uncalled for," the Hound conceded sincerely. Satisfied with an apology, Sansa took slow steps towards the edge of the staircase and seated herself next to him. Turning a guilty stare towards her, the Hound matched her eyes in earnest.

"I should have been more considerate. If it means that much to you, you can be on top instead."

With her mouth agape and her eyes widening to the size of saucers, Sansa felt a blush creeping down her cheeks and neck towards her chest. He was lewd, and no one had ever talked to her like this before. Unbidden, an image of her straddling him flashed across her mind. Sansa shook her head to erase the thought as quickly as possible. Never would she _ever_do anything like that with a man like the Hound.

The Hound erupted into loud laughter, clutching his side as confusion pooled on Sansa's face.

"It was a joke," he exhaled, elbowing her gently. The contact between them, brief as it was, caused Sansa's breath to catch in her throat. "Lighten up a bit."

Sighing her relief, although she was still troubled about her previous thought of straddling this man, Sansa settled back a bit and released the tension in her body. Timidly, she extended her hand out to him.

"My name's Sansa," she spoke softly, somehow feeling shy as she let her eyes settle on his.

"Sansa," he repeated as he accepted her hand. She noticed his gaze flickered to her lips momentarily before returning back to her eyes.

"My name's Sandor," he replied, his hand still wrapped around hers. Although his hand was rough, his skin was warm against hers, and the sensation was rather pleasant.

"Nice to meet you, Sandor." His stare had wandered to her lips again, she noticed, as if he had been studying the way his name curled around her tongue and mouth. Maybe he didn't notice, or perhaps he did, but he was still holding her hand.

Behind them, the door busted open, and Sansa abruptly pulled her hand away from the Hound's. A fresh wave of embarrassment hit her as Arya and Gendry stood there, both of their eyes shifting back and forth between Sansa and the Hound. Standing up and brushing off her skirt, Sansa felt as though she had been caught doing something she shouldn't have. _All I did was shake his hand…_

"There you are! We've been looking all over for you," Arya chided before turning towards the Hound.

"You fucking rocked tonight! I think I have whiplash from all the headbanging I did," Arya beamed rather uncharacteristically. Gendry had fallen silent next to her, apparently star struck by his guitar idol. Now that Sansa thought about it, she vaguely remembered him going on and on about the Hound and the way he could shred on the guitar.

"I…I…wow! You're just…you're like my idol, man," Gendry stammered as the Hound stood up, towering over all three of them.

"Thanks, man. We've got band practice next week if you're interested in stopping by," the Hound responded as he crossed his arms about his broad chest.

Paling and appearing as though he had just seen a flying saucer blaze across the sky, Gendry's mouth fell open as he nodded his head frantically.

"Yes! Jesus titty-fucking Christ, yes! That would be…holy shit…that'd be incredible," Gendry all but shouted. For a moment, Sansa thought he might hug the Hound for how gleeful he was in this moment.

Grasping Arya by the shoulders, Gendry shook her, perhaps a bit too hard as Arya stumbled forward.

"Can I bring my girlfriend too?"

Settling his eyes on Sansa, the Hound smiled.

"As long as she brings her sister."

Turning towards Gendry now, the Hound gave him an address and time before striding back inside, stopping at the door as he swiveled his head over his shoulder and gave Sansa a wink and a smile.

* * *

**A/N: ** Thanks for reading! Reviews are most welcome and appreciated :)

I don't know how long this one will be, but I know it won't be as lengthy or heavy as Gods and Monsters. I plan to keep it light and frivolous.


	2. Rock Me

**Thunderstruck**

Chapter Two

"You ain't so innocent, I know  
I know your heart's like mine, oh yeah  
And I will find the time to make you mine"

-Rock Me, Great White

* * *

"Are you going to tell me what you and the Hound talked about?"

Arms crossed and foot tapping, Arya was leaning against the doorway of the bathroom she and Sansa shared. She hadn't changed into her pajamas yet, and her hair was still a wild nest of teased hair.

What had she and the Hound - no, _Sandor _- talked about? Beyond introducing themselves to each other, their conversation had consisted mostly of sexual innuendos on his part and an embarrassed silence on hers. Sansa's cheeks started to flush at the thought.

"Nothing," Sansa replied nonchalantly as she pulled her hair back into a neon green scrunchie. She wasn't exactly lying to her sister, per se. Rather, she was excluding a majority of the details, which were inconsequential anyway.

"You didn't talk about nothing with him! Clearly, Gendry and I were interrupting a moment between the two of you. Tell me what he said!"

Half of the car ride back home, Gendry and Arya had been squealing and gushing about their backstage experience which had been eclipsed by their invitation to Cannibal Star's band practice. Immediately, the two of them had set in on relaying the events of the evening and planning what to wear to the band practice.

In a daze in the backseat, Sansa too had ruminated on the events of the evening,, but in the solitude of her own mind. To remember the things Sandor had said to her was mortifying. Had Joffrey or anyone else been so brazen, Sansa would have likely been scandalized and thoroughly offended. However, she couldn't help the lingering of butterflies she felt fluttering around in her stomach at the thought of his words and the way he had looked at her.

She felt light headed, and although she hated to admit it, perhaps a bit giddy too. With her silence drawing attention to her, Gendry and Arya had all at once remembered that they found Sansa outside and alone with the Hound. A deluge of questions came pouring from the front seat of the car as Arya and Gendry each, in turn, grilled her. _What did he say? What did you say? What was he like? Why was he holding your hand? Why were you looking at him like that? Were you about to kiss him? Why didn't you let him kiss you? _

Sansa had remained tight-lipped about the whole experience and merely glazed over their questions with one-word answers or a shrug of her shoulders. Truth be told, there wasn't much to tell. Regardless, the questions got her mind going as she pondered the answers.

_He said I was a hell of a lot cuter than Tiffany and that he wouldn't stop me if I wanted to roll around on the hood of his car. I said he was vile. He was crude and inappropriate. He was holding my hand because neither of us made the move to pull away. I wouldn't have kissed him first, no. Was he about to kiss me? And would I have let him? _

Those questions remained unanswered for now. Sansa doubted he would have kissed her, and even if he did, it would have been awkward. She didn't even know the guy, and she certainly wasn't the type of girl who just kissed random men from metal bands. _ Yes. Awkward. I wouldn't have let him kiss me. _

Splashing her face with tepid water, Sansa scrubbed off her makeup as Arya loitered in the doorway.

"Will you at least come to the band practice with Gendry and I?" Arya begged. It seemed this was the singular question she wanted answered tonight.

After toweling off her face and pulling her hair free of the scrunchie, Sansa turned towards her sister who was looking expectantly at her, lip pouted in a ridiculous fashion.

"When is it?" Sansa queried, the fluttering reemerging unexpectedly.

"Tuesday at 7pm, downtown. Gendry can take us."

Sansa perused her planned engagements for the coming days in her head. There was the Tri Delta homecoming committee meeting which she promised Margaery she would be at. Beyond that, the beginning of her week was more or less open.

Despite her hair sticking up in all directions and her eyeliner smeared across her eyelids, Arya was hard to say no to in this moment.

"Fine. I'll go," Sansa agreed as she flicked off the bathroom light and pushed past Arya.

"Aha! I knew it! Something happened between you and the Hound. This was a trap, you see. You would never in a _million_ years say yes otherwise. Tell me what happened!" Arya squealed as she skipped down the hall after Sansa, content to continue the tortuous nagging of details.

"Nothing happened, Arya!" Sansa groaned with a fair amount of frustration lacing her words. "I talked to the guy. That was all. I introduced myself, I shook his hand, he shook mine, and that was it. You're totally blowing this out of proportion."

Arya was quick on Sansa's heels into the room they also shared. The room seemed divided down the middle. Sansa's side was decorated in soft pastel colors, and her clothes were neatly organized in drawers with her makeup and hair accessories situated in orderly rows on top of her dresser. Arya's side of the room was a disaster, and had once been the same color as Sansa's until she plastered over the walls with posters of various metal bands, one of which happened to be Cannibal Star. Now that Sansa noticed the poster, she couldn't stop looking at it, or rather Sandor, in particular. Arya must have followed Sansa's eyes, although she could have sworn her glance was fleeting.

"Oh this is rich! Would you like me to hang it above your bed?" Arya taunted before pretending to faint on her own bed. "And then you can stare at it all night long. _'Oh, Hound! Kiss me, my Hound.'" _ At that, Arya pulled a pillow to her face and began obnoxiously emulating kissing sounds.

"Good night, Arya," Sansa replied with finality before climbing into bed and pulling the covers over her head.

She waited until she heard Arya retreat to the bathroom before peaking her head out from under the covers. Curiosity pulled her stare towards the poster. On the far left, Sandor stood with his band members, a serious scowl on his face and the muscles of his chest and abdomen visible despite the leather vest he wore. His scars were visible as well, and Sansa imagined what they might feel like. Sandor wasn't particularly handsome, not in the traditional sense at least. He did not possess the delicate symmetry to his facial features as many of the other boys she knew did. In fact, all symmetry was lost due to his scars, which were hideous in their own right. However, he was strong, built like a Roman god, and there was something intriguing about his bluntness, the way he said what he meant and meant what he said.

As she heard the water of the sink turn off, Sansa switched off the bed side lamp and turned away from Arya's side of the room and the poster of Cannibal Star. _Maybe I would have let him kiss me… _

With that thought Sansa closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The weekend had dissolved away as they always did - consumed by massive amounts of homework and the occasional social outing in between. As a sophomore in the pre-veterinary program at Northwestern, Sansa couldn't afford to fall behind and relinquish her dreams of attending veterinary school.

With those thoughts fueling her studying, Sansa had flicked on her _Purple Rain _tape, spread out on her bed, and powered through the assignments she had delegated for the weekend. It had left little time for socializing though, and Sansa couldn't help but let her eyes drift now and then towards the Cannibal Star poster above Arya's bed as she had studied.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Sansa made it to the third floor of the University Center, out of breath and wheezing despite being in decent physical shape. Any day now, the Jane Fonda workout tapes Margaery insisted on forcing Sansa to do with her would pay off. As she approached the meeting room, Sansa checked her bright pink swatch for the millionth time. She was late. Not a few minutes late where she could slip in and go unnoticed as her sorority sisters swapped the latest gossip from their weekend outings. She was massively late.

After picking Bran up from baseball practice and dropping him off at home, Sansa had rushed to get back on campus before the homecoming committee meeting started. She would have been on time except the hunk of junk 1972 Volvo she drove had given her trouble, the engine refusing to turn over until it was good and ready. It hadn't been good and ready until Sansa was already running five minutes behind.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sansa pushed the door of the meeting room open as quietly as she could. Although speaking at the front of the room, Margaery's eyes flicked towards Sansa as she sunk into a chair at the end of the long meeting table.

"This year we're paired with Sigma Chi," Margaery declared authoritatively, brown curls framing her heart-shaped face as her lips curled into their distinctive smile. "The boys will give each of us a white rose, and in return, we'll give them pansies, seeing as how these are our respective flowers."

Quietly, Sansa pulled a piece of paper and a pencil from her bag. If she was going to be late, she at least needed to take notes to save face. Margaery was in her senior year, and as president of the sorority, was already grooming Sansa to be her successor, although Sansa thought Dany was better suited for the position than she was.

"Myranda and I were thinking _'Pretty in Pink' _should be the theme this year," Margaery announced, eliciting squeals from all the girls. "Everything will be decorated in shades of pink, and all the girls will have to wear pink along with a strand of pearls. We'll have to start busting ass to get the decorations done. I'm passing around a sign-up sheet. I want each of you to sign up for a weekend where you'll be on decoration duty. No socializing, no studying. Just decorations."

Sansa groaned internally. While she enjoyed being in a sorority, she sometimes wondered where the other girls found time to dedicate _entire _weekends to making decorations or planning events. Margaery was studying interior design, a pursuit she would promptly drop as soon as she landed a rich husband. Beyond that, she was a socialite. Her education was more of a placeholder until she had a ring on her finger.

Eventually, the sound of Margaery's voice fell away as Sansa doodled mindlessly on her blank sheet of paper.

"…we want it to be elegant, but fun..." she heard against the backdrop of her thoughts.

With her head stuck in her books over the weekend, Sansa had been able to preoccupy her mind and stave off the tiny, meandering thoughts that would slowly creep towards the front of her mind.

_'If you ever want to roll around on the hood of my mustang in a skimpy dress, I wouldn't exactly stop you.'_

She had actually laughed at that and so had he. He drove a Mustang. She knew hardly anything about him beyond his name, the type of car he drove, and that he was in a band. With such little information about him, why was he invading her thoughts in these quiet moments? There was something about him, although Sansa couldn't quite put her finger on it. She would never in a million years go for a guy like that. _Never. _So why on earth couldn't she just forget about it?

"…her cousin said he would DJ, but I really think I'd rather have the guy Arianne knows…"

Margaery was still droning on. Sansa counted the girl as one of her dearest friends, but she wasn't quite in the mood for this. Weeks ago, she had been ecstatic about being included in the homecoming planning committee. Now…well, now it just seemed tedious.

Suddenly, the white noise of Margaery's voice dropped off, and when Sansa lifted her gaze, she found all eyes were on her.

"Sansa, are you listening?" Margaery inquired, hands on her hips with her head cocked to the side and lips pursed.

"Of course. Pink, Arianne's DJ, elegant and fun." Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Sansa was certain she was missing something, a fact that was all but confirmed as Mya gave a small shake of her head.

"Tomorrow night we're going to Oak Brook to look for our dresses," Margaery sighed with a roll of her eyes. "Will you be joining us?"

Although this was an apparently impromptu shopping trip, Sansa knew she shouldn't refuse. However, tomorrow was the night she was supposed to see _him _again. It hadn't been an invitation in the traditional sense, but he had effectually declared he wanted to see her there at his band's practice. While Sansa doubted Sandor would turn Arya away if she showed up sans her sister, she knew Arya would be disappointed if Sansa bailed on her. All eyes were on her once more as Sansa continued the debate within the confines of her own mind. She had already been late to the meeting, and it was now clear she had hardly been listening throughout the rest of it. _You're in no position to refuse. You didn't exactly accept Sandor's offer. You already did Arya a favor by going to the concert with her. She'll just have to get over it. _

The matter was settled, and yet Sansa felt a tinge of disappointment ripple through her.

"Well?" Margaery pressed as Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but words didn't quite come.

"I can't," she blurted out against all reasoning. "I have something else going on."

Despite Margaery's smile, Sansa could tell the girl was disappointed, both as her friend and as the president of the sorority. _Stupid, Sansa! Stupid. And for what? To watch some crude metalhead at his band practice. _She was already regretting this decision.

"What else do you have going on?" Jeyne inquired, although Sansa could tell it had nothing to do with innocent curiosity. Sansa bit her lip as she leveled an irritated stare at Jeyne adjacent to her.

"Just a thing," she responded perhaps a bit too curtly. If the girls weren't interested before, they were now, as the rest of them now turned inquisitive eyes towards Sansa.

"If it's _'just a thing' _then tell us," Arianne probed with a wicked smile. Of all the girls, of course she would be the one to belabor the issue, probably having somehow sniffed out that this had something to do with a man.

"I'm hanging out with my sister," Sansa declared as she steadied her voice. By the heat she felt creeping across her forehead and cheeks, Sansa could tell she was flushed. She wasn't exactly lying. She would be hanging out with Arya. And Gendry. And Sandor too.

"Yeah, I'm so sure!" Jeyne huffed sardonically. "You never hang out willingly with your sister."

Having known Jeyne all her life, Sansa should have guessed she'd be the one to call her out. It wasn't until Sansa left for college that she and Jeyne had stopped with the merciless rotation of snarky nicknames for Arya.

"Can we just drop it?" Sansa groaned. Despite being one of her oldest friends, Jeyne had a real talent for being a pain in the ass sometimes.

"Is this about Joff?" Margaery prodded, apparently glossing over Sansa's request to put the topic of discussion to rest. "Sansa, I thought we _all _agreed he was terrible for you."

It was true. Sansa had gotten an earful from every last one of her sorority sisters after her last spat with Joffrey. The bruise across her cheek administered by Boros had faded away, but the events leading up to it still resonated with her.

"It's not about Joff!" Sansa snapped. She was growing sincerely exhausted by people suggesting she was still hung up on him and treating her like she was some fragile thing.

He was controlling and jealous by nature, absurd considering Sansa knew very well he had been seen with other girls while they were still together. He was arrogant, sadistic, and manipulative. She could not wrap her head around why _anyone _would consider her stupid enough to actually be mourning the end of that relationship.

Sensing Sansa's unease, Margaery adjourned the meeting. The other girls chattered gleefully about the homecoming mixer with Sigma Chi as they gathered up their belongings and filed out of the room.

Sansa tucked her doodled sheet of paper into her bag along with her pencil and stood from her chair. The room had cleared, save for her and Margaery. She half-expected to hear an earful about being late and skipping out on the dress shopping excursion. It was not as if Margaery Tyrell ever got cross with someone, but she did have a way of conveying her disappointment with a smile still gracing her lips.

"Don't forget to sign up for a decorations shift," Margaery urged gently as she handed Sansa the clipboard. Taking it from the girl's hand, Sansa saw only two weekends were open, the others having filled up already. She scribbled her name down, committing the date to her memory as she reminded herself to write it down later.

Together, the two girls retreated from the room and headed down the stairs of the University Center.

"Are you alright?" Margaery softly inquired after silence stretched between them. Her words weren't probing, but instead Sansa could decipher the concern in the girl's voice.

"I'm fine," she assured as they headed outside and made their way towards the parking lot. "I'm sorry for being late. And sorry I can't make it tomorrow."

"No need to apologize," Margaery responded with a warm smile. "When you do go shopping for your dress, I'll go with you, and then we can catch up."

Sansa smiled in return as relief seemed to break through the tension.

"I'd like that. School's totally sucked lately."

Fumbling for her keys in her purse, Sansa stopped at her car and lifted her eyes to Margaery, ready to bid the girl goodnight, but instead found her smiling devilishly in return.

"I have the scoop on something, but you can't tell anyone I told you this," Margaery all but gushed as she lowered her voice slightly.

"At Loras' birthday party, Harold Hardyng asked Myranda if it was true that you and Joff split. After she told him you two were done, he said 'That's good news,' smiled, and then he walked away. I think he's planning on asking you out!" With a squeal, Margaery gave a little bounce as she waited for Sansa's response.

Tall, with thick waves of sandy brown hair, deep blue eyes, and a chiseled physique, Harold Hardyng was undeniably handsome. Even before she and Joffrey broke up, Sansa had caught him cutting leering looks at her during various Sigma Chi events. He was in the same fraternity as Joff, and Sansa often wondered how her then-boyfriend never noticed Harry checking her out. Or maybe Joffrey had noticed but didn't care as he preoccupied himself with hitting on her sorority sisters.

"Well don't look too excited or anything!" Margaery giggled as she cocked her head to the side. "He's gorgeous, and his family is loaded to boot!"

It was true. Harry was a trust fund baby and hailed from a high-society upbringing, much like Margaery had. His father was a genius when it came to investments, and it was widely known that Harry was set up for life. Prior to dating Joffrey, Sansa would have been thrilled to pieces for having caught the eye of someone like Harry. In fact, she _had _caught the eye of someone like Harry. She had caught Joffrey's eye and thought she had found exactly what she wanted. Her dreams had been dashed, as Joffrey turned out to be a royal prick.

"I don't know," Sansa responded with a furrowed brow as she shook her head. "I don't know how I feel about dating another guy from our circle. I'm sort of over it, you know? I think I just want to be single for awhile.

"I understand," Margaery replied with a shrug of the shoulders. "He won't be on the market for long though, Sansa. I'd jump at the chance if I were you."

With that, Margaery pulled Sansa in for a hug and waved goodbye as she headed for her BMW.

Sansa climbed into the old Volvo and said a little prayer before turning the engine. The heavens must have been listening, as the car fired up with no coaxing. As she drove home, Sansa made yet another mental note to have the car looked at and sometime soon.

* * *

"The timing belt is shot," Sandor informed the old woman flatly. She had been a customer for years at the auto repair shop he worked at, and for years he had been telling her to get her fucking timing belt replaced before it crapped out on her. The woman's older model Buick LeSabre was a pile of junk at this point, totaled all because she was a stubborn old broad.

With mistrustful eyes, the old woman bristled as she glared up at Sandor, whose shift had ended fifteen minutes ago. His eyes flickered towards the clock once more, his jaw clenched tightly as he sucked in a deep breath. He didn't mind working late and certainly didn't complain about the extra boost to his paycheck. However, he hated being late regardless of what engagement occupied his schedule. Today it happened to be band practice.

Sensing his rising annoyance, Barristan patted him on the back.

"I'll take care of it," the man murmured as he pushed past Sandor and rested his palms on the countertop of the front desk. "Mrs. Harris, Sandor is one of my best mechanics. If he says the timing belt is shot, then the timing belt is shot."

Sandor slipped away as the old broad argued with his boss and the owner of the shop. Shaking his head as he snatched up his jacket and bike helmet, Sandor snorted a laugh. _Better him than me. _

Barristan Selmy had the patience of a saint. He had owned his auto parts and repair shop for as long as Sandor could remember. The man even tolerated Sandor's intermittent leaves when he went on tour. Certain he wouldn't have a job to come back to when he returned to Chicago, Sandor was always surprised when Barristan allowed him to pick up some shifts. _'A mechanic with your skill and expertise is worth three of these mediocre guys I've got working for me,' _had been the man's reasoning. Sandor wasn't one to argue with him on that point, and instead gratefully picked up whatever shifts he could.

In the small bathroom, Sandor washed as much of the grease off his hands as he could with a perfunctory rinse. The rest would have to remain for now along with smudges that were on his face. He didn't have time to wash it off, and even if he did, he imagined he didn't give a shit. He threw on his black leather jacket as he pushed through the back door of the shop, now twenty minutes behind schedule.

Outside, the sun was setting as he strapped on his helmet and climbed on the back of his Harley. For being the middle of September, the air had a decided chill to it, the promise of an early fall.

Despite rush-hour having long been over, navigating the streets of downtown Chicago was a pain in the ass. The practice spot was a mere eight miles from Selmy's auto shop, and yet the drive took damn near a half hour as Sandor seemed to hit every stoplight along the way.

Sandor flew into the parking lot behind the practice spot, quickly parking his bike when he saw that Beric and Thoros' cars were already there.

The practice spot was in a seedier part of town, hardly the most crime-riddled area of the city, but also not the most desirable either. It was a loft space situated above the Kettleblack's pub - a joint which was a hole in the wall, but seemed well-known in the metal scene. Bands that played here usually went on to get wider recognition from the Chicago music scene, and in Cannibal Star's case, a record deal with a metal-oriented label. Osney had thought to expand the pub to the second level, but soon abandoned that idea when Beric had explained that they needed a set practice space in Chicago for the down time in between tours. The Kettleblack brothers were all too eager to accommodate Cannibal Star so long as they agreed to play shows at their pub while in town.

In hurried paces, Sandor pushed through the back door of the pub, passing by the open door of Osney's office as he made his way down the hall towards the staircase.

"Clegane!" he heard Osney shout out to him. Stopping, Sandor considered whether or not to ignore the man. He was already late, a few seconds to see what Osney wanted wasn't going to make much of a difference. Heading back down the hall, Sandor hovered in the doorway to Osney's office.

"I'm running late. This better be important," he grumbled.

The man settled back in his seat and motioned his head towards the staircase with an impish smile. Sandor hated that smile. He tolerated Osney well enough, but something about the man rubbed him the wrong way.

"You've got a little entourage waiting for you upstairs."

Sandor narrowed his eyes at the man, still not understanding what the fuck he was talking about. Sensing his confusion, Osney clarified.

"A guy by the name of Gendry. Swears you extended the invitation personally. His girlfriend is here too."

Sandor scanned his memories from the recent days. _Gendry. Gendry. Who the fuck is Gendry? _

Shaking his head, the name didn't ring any bells.

"What about the red-headed girl? Pretty face, tight body, nice legs." The man was smirking as he swiveled in his chair.

At once, the remembrance flooded Sandor's mind. He had been well into a bottle of whiskey when he extended the invitation to this particular band practice, and only now did the memory become fully fledged. Sandor remembered the girl, though, and was surprised to find he even remembered her name. _Sansa. _

"Fuck," Sandor breathed, shaking his head. "Alright thanks." With that, he strode down the hall, bike helmet in hand and jacket thrown over his arm. Heading up the stairs, Sandor could hear the faint sound of Bronn tuning his guitar while Harwin thumbed a few notes on his bass.

As he entered the open space of the upstairs loft, Sandor was met with disappointed looks from his band mates. Twirling the microphone cord around his hand, Beric had been pacing and raised his eyebrows as Sandor tossed down his bike helmet and jacket to the floor.

"You're late, man," he chided as Sandor made for his Les Paul set up in the corner. From the periphery of his vision, he caught a glimpse of vibrant red hair. From what he remembered of the girl, he wouldn't have guessed she would _actually _come to his practice. In fact, he remembered now that she said that metal wasn't her scene.

"I work, Dondarrion. Unlike the rest of you, I keep a fucking job outside of this," Sandor countered, irritated as he lifted his guitar and positioned the strap across his shoulder. Bronn had been staring at him, and when Sandor finally returned the stare, the man waggled his eyebrows and gave a small nod of his head in the direction of his supposed "entourage".

Before Sandor could say anything, Thoros began the beat for a few measures, and Beric set in with his signature falsetto wailing which preceded a good many of their songs. Sandor's gaze was averted as his feet pressed against the various pedals on the floor to distort the sound appropriately.

When he did finally lift his eyes, he saw the three of them standing against the opposite wall. With a start, the memories continued to find their place at the front of his mind. There was the guy, Gendry, who looked absolutely star-struck right now as his head bobbed up and down with the rhythm of Thoros' beat. Sandor remembered when he had been that way - enamored with the accolades and lifestyle of rock stars. Only now that he was living the "dream" did Sandor realize what a fucking fraud it all was.

Then there was the shorter girl with brown hair seemingly enjoying herself as much as Gendry, although Sandor didn't quite remember her name.

What he did remember was that she was the sister of the red-headed girl, Sansa. With big, piercing blue eyes staring back at him, the girl looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her pouty, perfectly pink lips parted as she watched his hands move up and down the neck of his guitar. As the girl seemed to blush and drop her gaze, Sandor took the opportunity to take in the sight of her body. With an off the shoulder crop top shirt and a high-wasted skirt, a sliver of the girl's midriff was visible along with the length of her legs. _A tight body indeed. _She didn't look like most of the broads that hung around the band. She looked like a good girl, the kind you take home to your mother; not the kind already corrupted by spending time in the music scene.

In the nights after their initial meeting, Sandor had taken himself in hand, stroking the length of his hardened cock to the hazy memory of the long expanse of her legs, the swell of her breasts feebly hidden in her blouse, the fullness of her lips, the way she blushed furiously at each lewd and drunken remark he had made. She should have decked him, and Sandor was a bit surprised she hadn't; a little prep like her, surely she'd have a stick up her ass, or so he thought. Instead, she had smiled prettily for him, although she probably thought he hadn't seen. He saw her well enough, although he had been more than a little buzzed. Despite his foggy memories, Sandor would stroke himself to release at the thought of her naked and on top of him - hips rocking and tits bouncing as she rode him with wild abandon, moaning his name as she climaxed.

_'If it means that much to you, you can be on top.' _

Now he remembered saying that to her. Chuckling to himself, Sandor shook his head at the memory. _She should have fucking decked me. _

Sandor had been certain the memory of this girl would hardly match the reality, the effects of alcohol having surely distorted her beauty. That was hardly the case, he came to realize, stealing not-so-subtle glances at her as he went through his chords and riffs in automatic motion. If his band members noticed, they didn't mention anything during the down time between songs and the handful of discussions regarding things to change or work on with each.

After finishing the last song they had on tap for the evening, Beric called an end to the practice and the guys began setting down their equipment. As Sandor lifted his guitar from his shoulders and unplugged various cords from his instrument, he could hear Gendry and the little brown-haired girl gushing to Beric and Bronn, breathless as they both blabbered off a myriad of compliments.

Stretching until his back popped, Sandor lifted his eyes to Sansa who was still perched with her back pressed against the wall. She gave him a small but uncomfortable smile. She hadn't been kidding; this was most definitely not her scene.

"I thought you didn't like metal music," he mused with a sardonic smirk as he approached the girl. Appearing flustered, Sansa lowered her eyes as she shifted slightly from side to side.

"You told me to come," she replied quietly. Her voice was soft, sweet, and entirely feminine - something else he had forgotten.

"Did I?" Sandor laughed as he paced towards the beer cooler Harwin always had in tow to practices. Given how drunk he had been and how attractive this girl was, it wouldn't have surprised Sandor if he told her to come. However, even in his inebriated memories, he didn't quite remember it happening that way.

"You don't remember," Sansa finally responded after a moment, her voice crestfallen despite the shy smile on her lips.

"I remember telling your sister to bring you along." _Was that how it happened? And why the fuck would this girl care if I wanted her here or not? _ Sandor snatched up two bottles of cold beer and plopped down on an old, tattered couch a few feet away from where Sansa was standing.

She smiled once more as he held a beer out to her. He liked her smile. It was shy, it was sweet, and it was for him. Sandor couldn't remember the last time a girl as pretty as her actually offered him a genuine smile.

"This is nice," Sansa said as she sat down next to him and gently took the beer from his hand. Her nails tapped against the bottle cap as she stared down at it.

"This fucking hole in the wall?" Sandor questioned as he took the bottle from her hand and twisted off the cap before handing it back to her. "You're a liar. A terrible one at that."

Pulling from the beer bottle in a long swig, Sandor stared at her. Although tall in her own right, she looked small sitting next to him and perhaps a little scared too. The others, her sister and that Gendry guy included, had headed downstairs, presumably for the hard stuff behind the Kettleblack's bar. They were alone now. On a couch. By themselves. And the girl seemed to notice.

"I was being polite," she protested, her voice betraying a bit of affront.

"Always so courteous," Sandor responded as he rested his arm on the back of the couch and consequently behind her head. She blushed as he leaned closer towards her. "That bullshit is lost on me, girl. What do you really think?"

He expected her to move away from him, to either continue looking wholly scandalized or to protest and finally deck him as she probably should have during their first conversation. To his surprise and confusion, she did neither. Instead, she held her spot next to him and simply swiveled her head to meet his eyes.

"I do think it's nice," she asserted. "The carpets are…" Sansa stopped as she shifted her eyes towards the faded and thinning oriental rugs thrown about the floor in various places. "The carpets are ugly," she declared before taking a delicate sip of her beer. Sandor reckoned she probably didn't like beer that much and had only accepted it to be polite, another product of polished manners.

Throwing his head back, Sandor let out a hearty laugh. Even her truths sounded polite. She seemed flustered once more as her eyes shifted between him and the rugs, apparently not understanding why he was laughing. As his laughter died down, Sandor stared down at her, thoroughly enjoying her look of confusion as well as the features of her face. She was pretty, he had already known that, but with his senses about him, he hadn't quite expected her to be a fucking knockout. The best part was she probably had no idea how attractive she was, especially now as she began biting her lip and inadvertently drawing his attention to its fullness.

"What?" she breathed, her chest rising and falling a bit more frantically now than it had been.

"I didn't say anything," he murmured, his eyes shamelessly fixated on her lips again.

"You're staring at me," she informed quietly, as if she honestly thought he wasn't fully aware of his own leering.

"You're nice to look at." Sandor grinned as he watched her cheeks become flushed and her eyes wide. "Get used to it. You can't tell me the pretty boys you hang around with don't do it too. The only difference is they try to hide it. I don't."

Turning towards him, Sansa smiled back, shaking her head incredulously.

"And why are you so sure I hang around with pretty boys?" she demanded, holding her head up as she steadied her eyes on him. Clearly, she didn't like him making assumptions about her.

"Call it an educated guess. Am I wrong though?" Sandor probed, finding a part of himself was actually curious about the answer.

"I'm here with you, aren't I?" she questioned in earnest, her eyes matching his with sincerity. Sandor knew when people lied, and he knew when they were being spiteful. The girl was doing neither, and he knew she didn't quite understand the insult she had just paid him.

"Yeah, the ugly dog," he grumbled as he scooted away from her and pulled his arm from the back of the couch. "I get it."

In an instant, one of Sansa's hands flew up to her mouth as she gasped and shifted towards him.

"Oh god! No, that's not what I meant," she blurted out in a desperate attempt at damage control. "I'm so sorry."

Sandor had lowered his head so that she wouldn't see the amused grin on his lips.

"No need to lie about it. My face isn't anything to write home about it."

It was the truth. He wasn't deluded enough to actually think girls truly found him attractive. His body was in excellent shape, he knew that, and maybe some might find the good side of his face handsome enough. However, the scars were too much for most women to handle. He scored his share of groupies, but he knew well enough they weren't fucking him for his looks. Rather, it was a conquest of their own to say they fucked the Hound from Cannibal Star. Sandor was used to it and didn't kid himself into thinking this chick would be any different.

Sandor felt Sansa's hand gently come to rest on his knee, her fingers placed hesitantly.

"I'm not lying. I only meant to say that I…" Her voice fell away as she seemed to carefully measure her words this time lest she misspoke again. "If I wanted to hang out with some boring pretty boys, I would. But I didn't. I came here instead."

As Sandor shifted his gaze towards her, he found Sansa's eyes pooled with concern and sincerity. He hadn't expected that and only shook his head before chuckling.

"What?" Her brow furrowed, apparently confused. If she was confused by his actions, then he was just as confused by hers. They could sort that out later.

"You're a fucking trip," he laughed once more before setting his beer down and abruptly standing up. "Band practice is over. Let's go."

Following suit, Sansa gently set her beer down and stood up before following him across the room. Downstairs, the others were sharing a drink with Sansa's sister and Gendry, all erupting into laughter as Bronn regaled them with a story.

After bidding the appropriate farewells, Sandor and his "entourage" headed towards the back parking lot while the rest of his band mates stayed behind.

"Thanks for coming out." Sandor extended his hand to Gendry in a hand shake.

"Thank you! This has been great!" Gendry exclaimed with a beaming smile as he rested against a '69 Firebird.

"That's a nice car," Sandor acknowledged with a nod and a half-smile.

"Thanks, man. It's my baby. You drive a motorcycle?" Gendry queried as his gaze shifted towards the helmet in Sandor's hand.

"Looks like it."

"I thought you drove a Mustang," Sansa questioned with curious eyes. Filing through his memories once more, Sandor tried to remember when he had told her that until a Tawny Kitaen reference raced across his mind. 

"I drive the Harley mostly. The Mustang is for special occasions," he informed blankly before silence settled between the four of them.

The conversation was winding down and easing towards the point where everyone said their goodbyes before going separate ways. With Cannibal Star very much involved with their fan base, Sandor met people all the time, a steady rotation of names and faces he never saw again. It made no difference to him. And yet he found himself hesitant to simply ride away and have Sansa, in particular, become one of the many faces and names he once knew.

"Want a ride?" Sandor blurted out before he could talk himself out of it.

Wide-eyed, Sansa stared up at him, considering him with something between nervousness and confusion. From behind, Sansa's sister nudged her towards Sandor with a wicked grin on her face.

"On the motorcycle?" Sansa breathed as she continued staring up at him before biting her lip again, a gesture which was driving him crazy. If she kept that up, he'd be biting at her lips too - nipping them between kisses and licks.

Leaning forward towards her, Sandor murmured in her ear, breathing her in as he did so. She smelled like vanilla and strawberries.

"Did you have something else in mind you'd wanna take a ride on?" Standing back upright, Sandor cocked an eyebrow as a devious smile spread across his lips.

"Still with the innuendos," Sansa responded with an exasperated laugh and a shake of the head.

"Still with the blushing," Sandor retorted back as he noted the flush spreading across her cheeks. "It's a good look on you."

Dropping her eyes, Sansa smiled in return as if truly touched that Sandor continually alluded to the fact that he found her good looking. If he didn't know any better, the girl's boyfriend, if she had one, did a piss poor job at complimenting her. Not that Sandor was an expert in that either, but by comparison, it seemed as though he was nailing it.

"I'll see you back at home," Sansa said as she waved to her sister and her sister's boyfriend and followed Sandor to his bike.

"Where do you live?" Sandor asked as he handed her a smaller helmet from the compartment of his bike.

"Winnetka," Sansa replied as her eyes flickered up towards his, gauging his reaction as she gingerly took the helmet from his hands and placed it on her head. _Beautiful and rich. And way out of my league. _

"Do you know where that is?" she probed.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Every Chicago native knew Winnetka to be one of the wealthiest areas in the metropolitan area. Situated to the north of the city, Sandor drove through there plenty of times on his way up to Milwaukee.

After getting specific directions from the girl, Sandor climbed onto his bike. Sansa hesitated as she stepped towards the motorcycle, her lips slightly pursed as she tried to puzzle out how to approach. Sandor extended his hand to her for purchase as she climbed on behind him. Her fingers felt delicate and her skin soft against his rough, calloused palms which were still smudged with grease from his work day.

As he released the kickstand, Sandor felt her arms tentatively snake around his chest as Sansa encircled him in a demure embrace. _Polite as ever. _

Apparently, the girl had never been on the back of a bike before. Like this, she'd go flying off the back the first bump they came to. With his feet planted on the ground, Sandor reached behind him and grabbed her firmly by her ass. He could hear a tiny squeal escape her lips as if she were about to protest until he pulled her against him, her chest flush to his back. Her thighs pressed against his hips as Sandor grabbed her forearms and pulled her arms tighter around him.

"Hold on tight," he instructed with a half-smile as he began backing out of the parking space. As he kicked on the engine, Sandor felt her arms grip him tightly and a steady increase of pressure at his hips as Sansa squeezed her thighs against him.

Sandor navigated the streets north towards Winnetka, avoiding the highways as he opted for the side roads. If this truly was the first time she'd been on a bike, Sandor didn't want to petrify the poor girl by taking the interstate. Beyond that, he had to admit he liked the feeling of her pressed against him, her body flush up against his as she hung onto him for dear life. More than a handful of times, he felt her press her cheek against his back as her arms wrapped tightly around him. She wasn't exactly dressed for a motorcycle ride, and undoubtedly her skirt was probably hiked up a bit higher than she preferred. They meandered through suburbia, stopping here and there at stoplights. As they approached yet another stop, Sandor shifted his gaze over his shoulder.

"Are you doing okay?" he shouted over the motorcycle engine.

Sansa replied with a tiny nod of the head and a tense smile. Eventually, Sandor began taking the turns on the various streets she had told him until he found himself in a neighborhood with houses that were obnoxiously large. As he approached the house with the matching address she had told him, Sandor slowed the bike to a stop as he pulled into the driveway behind a 1970s model Volvo. Killing the engine, Sandor put down the kickstand as he stood up before offering Sansa his hand and helping her off the bike.

She regarded him with a smile as she pulled the helmet off of her head and handed it back to him before smoothing down the long strands of her hair.

"Next time you're on a motorcycle, don't lean away from the turns," Sandor intoned as he returned her helmet to the compartment under the seat.

"How are you so sure I want to ride with you again?" Sansa countered coquettishly before biting her lip and staring up at him through her eye lashes, content to torture him, although she couldn't possibly know what she was doing to him.

"I didn't say my motorcycle. I just said _a _motorcycle."

He meant it as a joke, but the girl once more looked crestfallen and perhaps a bit embarrassed as she lowered her eyes with a nervous laugh.

"Oh," was all she said as her lips formed into a shape of an "O", exacerbating their poutiness.

"Although, mine looks a hell of a lot better with you on it." Watching as she lifted her eyes to him, Sandor gave Sansa a wink, something which caused her to smile shyly back at him.

With eyes matched, silence fell between them as they stared at one another, each seeming to subtly evaluate the other. She was beautiful. He knew that much about her and apparently came from a well-to-do background. Beyond that, Sandor knew little of Sansa.

"You live with your parents?" he asked as he cast a furtive glance towards the enormous two-story, colonial-style home behind him.

Sansa nodded her head as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"For now. I'm moving into my sorority house in a few weeks," she offered diffidently. Sandor smiled at that. She was in college - another tidbit he could add to his growing knowledge of her.

"A sorority girl," he repeated as he raised his eyebrows at her, the smug smile still plastered across his lips. "A rich, pretty sorority girl."

"Don't say it like that," Sansa scolded as she rolled her eyes. Once more, he sensed she didn't like being lumped in with the typical reputation that sorority girls held. Sandor was left to wonder why she even cared at all what he thought of her.

"Imagine what your sorority sisters will say when they find out you've had my Hog between your legs."

Sandor chuckled as Sansa's eyes went wide again, and a defamed gasp escaped her lips. This time, he didn't have the excuse of being drunk. Instead, he liked seeing the way she blushed at his crude remarks; he liked the way her lips would part when she gasped ever so slightly, the way her breathing became a bit more frantic as her chest began to rise and fall steadily. He liked that he could get that reaction from her, and he supposed it was nice that she hadn't decked him yet for it.

"Is that your car?" Sandor inquired as he motioned his head towards the Volvo parked in front of his bike.

"Yeah. I share it with my sister. I hate it," Sansa replied as she shot a disdainful look towards the old thing.

"Those are good little cars. Keep up with the oil changes and they'll run forever."

Sansa nodded her head as she lifted her gaze up towards him timidly. Once more the conversation had come to a lull, and it was obvious this was the cue for them to part ways.

"Thanks for the ride," Sansa spoke softly before gnawing on her bottom lip once more, clearly a nervous gesture, although Sandor swore to God she was doing it to tease him mercilessly.

"No problem," he responded with a nod of his head before climbing back onto his bike.

He hesitated. He should have just ridden off. Why was he not able to do that with this girl? Reaching into his pocket, Sandor pulled out his wallet and retrieved one of his business cards. It was a long shot, but the way he saw it, he was leaving this one up to fate. Sandor handed the card to Sansa who took it from him and studied it curiously. After a few moments, she seemed to understand, as a sweet smile pulled across her lips.

"If you ever need any maintenance, or if you just want to go for a ride," Sandor spoke, matching her eyes. With that, he backed out of her driveway, watching as Sansa stared down at the card in her hands with a shy smile. Kicking on the engine, he rode out of Winnetka with a smile on his own lips and the hope that maybe that old Volvo just might give out.

* * *

**A/N:**

Thank you for the incredible feedback on this fic! I was not expecting so much interest in a metal 80's SanSan fic.

A special thanks to mendedheart1, my beta extraordinaire for beta'ing this!


	3. Crazy Train

**Thunderstruck**

Chapter Three

"Crazy, but that's how it goes  
Millions of people living as foes"

-_Crazy Train_, Ozzy Osbourne

* * *

Sansa grumbled as the last remnants of her dreams were punctuated by the garish beeping of her alarm. With a hand shooting out from underneath her comforter, her fingers fumbled with the objects on her nightstand until reaching the snooze button of her alarm clock. Pulling the covers over her head, she had scarcely closed her eyes again before it was blaring once more. Three, four, maybe even five more times she did this. Even though she gained just a few minutes more of sleep, it felt good to burrow in the warmth of her covers and avoid getting up.

She was just about to drift back into sleep when her covers were being yanked off of her as the alarm began beeping once more.

"If you're just going to keep hitting the snooze button, then why don't you turn the damn thing off?" Arya chided, deep bags under her eyes and her hair matted against her face on one side. "You're not the only one in this room."

Sansa snatched the blankets back from her sister as Arya ripped the alarm clock cord from the wall and retreated back to her bed in stumbling steps, disoriented and groggy. Fully awake now and irritated, Sansa jumped from the bed and grabbed up her robe.

"Do you have to be such a brat? The room will be all yours in a week," Sansa snapped as she stomped across the room. A pillow hit the back of her head as she reached for the door knob.

"I bet you can't wait to live in a house full of spoiled bitches. It will suit you well."

With that, Arya turned away and pulled the covers over her head with a huff. Sansa's mouth hung open at her sister's words, which admittedly stung. If she wasn't already running fifteen minutes behind for her first class of the day, she'd ream Arya for that. As it stood, she didn't have time to get into a battle of words with her sister.

Rolling her eyes, Sansa headed towards the bathroom and jumped into the shower. After toweling off, she quickly threw on an oversized striped sweater, leggings, and her Ked shoes. Her full makeup routine was abbreviated as Sansa applied just a bit of powder and concealer, a quick swipe of mascara, and a smattering of blush across her cheeks. With only five minutes before she had to be out the door, her hair would have to air dry.

Throwing her school bag over her shoulder, Sansa bounded down the stairs with her car keys already in hand. Breakfast would have to be eliminated from her morning routine as well.

"Sansa!" she heard her mother call out from the kitchen just as she reached the front door. Giving pause, Sansa sighed and hovered near the doorway.

"I'm running late," she shouted back. Regardless, her mother shuffled down the hallway towards her, still in her robe and with curlers in her dark auburn hair. In one hand was a large, tattered envelope stuffed to the brim with papers inside, and in the other was a steaming cup of coffee.

"I need you to do me a favor," her mother began as she handed Sansa the envelope. It appeared as though she was doing this favor whether she wanted to or not. "Your dad forgot these this morning and needs them for an afternoon meeting. Can you run them by his office for me?"

Furrowing her brow, Sansa bit her bottom lip as she mentally scrolled through her schedule for the day. She was already running behind for Politics of the Twentieth Century with Professor Baelish, and she had planned on studying during the break before her chemistry lab started in the afternoon.

"Mom, that's all the way downtown," Sansa sighed as she shook her head. "My morning class isn't over until twelve, and then my lab starts at two."

She watched as her mother cocked her head to the side and rested one hand on her hip. Sansa knew this was the mark of disappointment and the beginning of some sort of guilt trip that would end up in her agreeing to whatever task her mother wanted her to do. It seemed there was no getting out of this.

"Rickon has a doctor's appointment. I need you to do this for me. You should have plenty of time." Her mother held the envelope out to her as her face seemed to plead with Sansa. She hated when her mom looked at her this way and could have sworn she had never seen her mother consider Arya with the same sort of expectation. Whereas Arya seemed hell bent on disappointing their mother, Sansa was always expected to be a proper lady.

With a groan, Sansa grabbed the envelope and shoved it into her school bag.

"Thank you." Her mother smiled warmly, kissing Sansa on the cheek before seeing her out the door. "Tell Petyr I said hi," she called out from the porch as Sansa tossed her bag onto the passenger seat of the Volvo.

Although she nodded and waved back at her mother, she had no intention of passing that message along to Professor Baelish. It didn't matter if he was a childhood friend of her mother's, both of them having grown up next door to one another and attending college together.

The man was a creep and had somehow fixated on her after learning Catelyn Stark's daughter was going to be in his class this semester. On more than one occasion, Sansa had caught him leering at her across the quad or even during the weekly in-class quizzes, conveniently when no one else might notice. Margaery had made a joke out of it, although Sansa hardly found it amusing. _'Oh Sansa! He'll never actually make a move on you. He would lose his job. Play it up. The whole professor-student fantasy exists for a reason. It's fun!' _

Perhaps Margaery Tyrell could maneuver her way through a situation like this, but Sansa wanted nothing to do with it and certainly didn't see the allure of this sort of "fantasy".

Her thoughts were turned to her car as the engine refused to turn over. Of all times for her car to be giving her trouble, this was the absolute worst. After a few more attempts, the engine fired up and Sansa headed towards Northwestern's campus. She could deal with her car troubles later. For now, she needed to get to class on time.

By the time she peeled into the parking lot nearest Scott Hall, Sansa was ten minutes late for class. The lot was nearly full as she arrived, the only free spaces in the remote corners furthest from where she needed to be. With a sigh, Sansa pulled her bag from the car and hurried across the parking lot.

When she made it into the lecture hall, she was out of breath and saw that Baelish was already well into his lecture. As quietly as she could, Sansa tiptoed down the steps of the main aisle and eased into the nearest empty seat a few rows back from where Margaery, Mya, and Jeyne were sitting together. When she lifted her eyes, Baelish was already looking at her, smiling slightly beneath his well-manicured mustache. Averting her gaze, Sansa cringed as she pulled her notebook out of her bag. Myranda often made jokes that Professor Baelish, or Petyr as he told the students to call him, looked like a poor man's version of Tom Selleck and a wannabe for a spot on _Magnum, P.I._ With his tight pants, penchant for colorful and casually unbuttoned shirts, and the red sports car he drove, Sansa had to admit it was true.

Sansa tried her best to pay attention, scribbling the bits and pieces of information about the League of Nations as Baelish droned on. Her mind wandered elsewhere, namely the logistics of how she was supposed to get downtown to drop off her Dad's papers and then all the way back to campus again. Surely, she would have to skip lunch, a thought which only added to the inconvenience of her task. Already, her stomach was grumbling with hunger.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard someone take a seat behind her. Sansa's heart began to race as she picked up on the familiar scent of his cologne. It made her sick to her stomach.

"Wanna tell me why you were late for class, slut?" Joffrey breathed into her ear. His voice elicited shivers to run down her spine. Sansa tried in earnest to still the shaking of her hand. Her eyes flickered about the room hoping someone might see, although there was nothing anyone could do for her right now. Deciding her best option was to ignore him, Sansa steadied her gaze to the front of the room and tried to focus on Baelish's lecture instead.

Sansa knew Joffrey, though, and he wasn't the type to back down. If anything, her reticence would spur him on even further. She squeezed her eyes shut when she felt his breath hit her cheek once more.

"People have been talking about us around campus, saying that you dumped me. What they should be saying is that I kicked you to the curb because you were a lousy lay and a fucking moron to boot."

Joffrey chuckled when he saw Sansa visibly tense at that. She had, in fact, never slept with Joff, somehow sensing he wasn't likely to be gentle with her. They had fooled around, but she never let it go any further than that. His patience with that particular facet of their relationship had waned almost immediately when they had started at Northwestern. He had puzzled out quickly enough that girls were willing to sleep with him without much pretense of conversation or commitment.

Sansa felt tears beginning to sting her eyes, more out of exasperation than hurt. She was used to Joff's insults by now. However, after a few weeks of having no run-ins with him, she had thought that perhaps he finally would leave her alone. The incident with Boros and Meryn had left her on edge, precisely the reaction Joff had been looking to elicit.

"Still have nothing to say do you?" he continued on, his voice every bit as cruel as she remembered. "Your family is trash. My father did Ned Stark a favor by hiring him. It was charity for your family. You're the most pathetic of them all. You're nothing."

Sansa had had enough. Whipping her head around, she leveled an irate stare onto Joffrey. With his hair curling in golden waves to his chin and disgustingly thick lips, Sansa could hardly believe she had once found him attractive.

"This is harassment," she scolded beneath her breath. "If you don't leave me alone, I will file a restraining order against you. My dad-"

"Your dad can't do shit," Joffrey interrupted, his face turning red. "My grandfather runs this city, bitch. My family has more connections than you can even dream of. Don't you ever tell me what to do. I'll do whatever I want. You can't do anything about it."

Sansa noticed Baelish was staring at them as he continued his lecture, obviously aware some sort of unpleasant exchange was occurring between her and Joffrey.

"I should have listened to my mother," Joffrey seethed. "She always said you were stupid and a waste of my time. I should have gone for Margaery." With that, Joffrey removed himself from the seat behind her and headed back towards Meryn and Boros seated in the row adjacent to her.

Occupied with her and Joffrey's exchange, Sansa hadn't noticed the time, not until her classmates seemed to shift restlessly in their seats as they discreetly began putting away their notebooks and pencils. It was the tell-tale sign that Baelish would be wrapping up soon, and it couldn't come soon enough. Sitting up in her seat, Sansa watched as Petyr turned to the clock hanging on the wall to his right and noticed the minute hand encroaching on the top of the hour.

"Alright. I think that will do it for today," he announced as he dusted the chalk off of his hands. "Remember, you need to have a rough draft of your papers turned into your partners by Monday!" His voice carried through the lecture hall despite the class eagerly snatching up their belongings and clearing from the room.

Sansa waited in her seat until she saw Joff, Meryn, and Boros retreat from the room. Margaery and the girls must not have seen her, as they exited down the row away from her and headed out of the lecture hall. Sansa tucked away her notebook and began back up the stairs of the hall in quick steps.

"Miss Stark," she heard Baelish call out from behind her when she had almost reached the top.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Sansa groaned internally. This wasn't the first time Petyr had spoken with her after class. In fact, the frequency of these "meetings" was increasing as the semester wore on. Turning around, Sansa feigned a smile, her eyes undoubtedly betraying her discomfort. With his hands shoved in his pockets, Baelish was gradually traversing the distance between them as he meandered up the stairs towards her.

"You missed a riveting introduction to the League of Nations," the man joked with a saccharine smile. His eyes did not stray from her, but instead seemed to roam the features of her face.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Sansa spoke as she shifted from side to side with unease. "I was late getting out the door this morning. I apologize for having missed it."

"Oh, no. Don't apologize," he countered with a dismissive wave of his hand. "And please. Call me Petyr."

Sansa's lips creased once more into a tense smile. He was the only professor she knew who preferred for his students to call him by his first name. It was a bit too informal for her taste. The other students, however, seemed to rather enjoy his unconventional approach to higher education. The rumors were that Baelish traveled around the country in the sixties, a product of the counterculture and proponent of free love. Sansa cringed at the thought, considering that her mother had been close friends with the guy during that time.

Baelish stepped forward, gently resting the tips of his fingers on her forearm as he stared at her intently.

"You know, Sansa, if you ever need anything at all, my office door is always open. It doesn't even have to be related to this course. Even if you just need someone to talk to, you can always come to me, and I'm not just saying that because Catelyn is my close friend."

Although she had been trying in earnest to avoid his gaze, Sansa finally met Petyr's insistent stare and nodded her head with a terse smile. She didn't doubt that he would eagerly invite her into his office. As if the overpowering smell of his cologne wasn't enough, that thought beckoned the bile to rise in the back of her throat and threatened to make her gag. Dealing with Joff had been enough to sour her day. This was too much.

"Good," Baelish replied with a toothy grin before slowly retreating away. Sansa wasn't sure if he meant to say more or was simply waiting for her to resuscitate the conversation with her own input. It made no difference. She wasn't going to stick around long enough to find out.

Without another word, Sansa hurried from the room, breathing a sigh of relief as she made her way from Scott Hall back towards the parking lot. Her walk towards her car was rife with tension as her eyes darted around the quad, waiting for Joffrey and his friends to pop out at any moment. Blessedly, they must have wandered elsewhere, as Sansa made it to her car without incident. The engine of her Volvo fired up immediately without much hassle, and Sansa headed towards downtown.

As she made the half-hour commute into the city, her eyes gravitated here and there towards her watch as she measured her time. Perhaps her mother had been right; as long as the lunch-hour traffic was at a minimum, she would have plenty of time to return to school for her next class.

Sansa navigated the streets of the business district, mindful of how the lanes seemed to narrow and watchful as people attempted to parallel park on the street. Having never mastered the art of parallel parking, Sansa opted for the parking garage of her father's building. Once parked, she grabbed the envelope from her school bag and headed towards the elevator of the garage.

She pressed the button for the forty-third floor and waited in silence as the elevator began moving. Sansa was never quite sure exactly what her father did for a living. He worked in corporate finance at Baratheon & Company, and she knew he was part of the mergers and acquisitions department. Beyond that, details seemed to blur, and Sansa couldn't place what her father did all day beyond sit in meetings and take important phone calls. It all seemed terribly boring and stressful, especially considering her father was always tying up loose ends for Robert Baratheon.

The thought of Robert unnerved Sansa. He was a nice enough man - loud and boisterous - but pleasant nonetheless. However, he was Joffrey's father, and regardless of how pleasant that man was, him and Cersei had still raised a monster for a son. Her parents had been admittedly relieved when Sansa dissolved the relationship, but it was still a tender subject; not due to any regrets on her part, but for the awkward fact that the Baratheons and Starks were still good friends. Well, at least the patriarchs of the families were. Sansa knew for certain her mother couldn't stand Cersei Lannister-Baratheon and imagined the sentiment was mutual, more than like.

As she stepped off the elevator, Sansa was greeted by a receptionist poised at the front desk of the open lobby area. Behind the woman were floor to ceiling glass windows which held a beautiful view of downtown Chicago offset by the sparkling waters of Lake Michigan. The view alone was worth all the hassle of maneuvering through the city.

"Hello," the receptionist greeted with a smile as she turned to Sansa, her lips a vibrant shade of red. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I am Ned Stark's daughter, and I'm here to drop off some papers to him," Sansa responded as she stepped forward with the envelope clutched in her hands.

"He's in a meeting, but I will make sure-" the woman's voice was interrupted before she could finish her sentence.

"Sansa!" her father's voice called out from down the hall to her left. Turning towards him, she saw him approaching her with a beaming smile, one which intimated his relief at either seeing her or perhaps the adjournment of whatever meeting he was coming from. Sharply dressed as always, he wore a pressed grey suit, something she knew wasn't quite to his taste but he wore anyway. 'Dressing the part' was what he always called it, although he preferred to be clothed less formally.

Upon reaching her, Sansa was pulled into her father's arms in a tight embrace.

"Good to see you, kiddo. Thanks for bringing the papers. I'd be dead meat without them," he sighed, seeming exhausted despite his cheerfulness.

"It's no problem," she replied as she followed her dad towards his office. When he pushed the door open, she could see stacks of manila folders piled on his desk, each filled with what seemed important documents.

"Busy day?" Sansa inquired as she settled into the plush leather chair opposite his desk and placed the envelope on top of a stack of folders.

Sighing, her father leaned against the wall behind his desk, staring out the glass window to the city beyond.

"Yeah. There's an important merger project Robert wants me to take over while he's on vacation." Sansa could tell her father had left quite a bit unsaid, perhaps his various frustrations with the man who he had grown up with and now worked for. Undoubtedly, the shifting dynamics between Robert and her father put certain strains on their relationship. If that weren't enough, Joff's mistreatment of her had also been a point of contention between them as well.

"I don't know, kiddo. The man seems content to work me into an early grave," he joked with a chuckle. Shaking his head to remove the thoughts, her father lowered himself into his chair.

"You haven't had any problems with Joffrey, have you?" he asked, graveness now coloring his demeanor.

Sansa swallowed hard and shifted her eyes away from her father. Prior to this morning's run-in, she hadn't heard from Joffrey in a few weeks. She didn't want to alarm her dad by relaying what had happened in class today. With any luck, Joff had gotten it out of his system and would leave her alone. With Robert being a benefactor to the university, Joffrey seemed to think he could get away with whatever he wanted. Unfortunately, that notion had been proven correct in the past and only exacerbated his behavior.

Sansa lifted her gaze to her father now and offered what reassurance she could.

"I see him around campus, but he's usually with his friends."

Her father seemed to tense at that, and Sansa could hear him suck in a breath.

"Those boys are bad news. I still think Boros got off too easy with what he did to you. If you see them around campus, I want you to turn and walk the other way, Sansa."

Her father's words were heavy with concern, and his eyes hardened with severity. It seemed this sort of sternness came naturally to her father. Not that he was a cold man but perpetually cautious and concerned for things he didn't always have control over.

"I will," Sansa replied. "I really don't think they're going to bother me anymore." She couldn't say for certain if the last part was true, but Sansa did know Joffrey had set his sights on another girl from a different sorority. Although she never wished Joffrey on any other girl, Sansa had to admit her relief at hearing that tidbit of information from Margaery.

"And these sorority mixers, will he be at those?" her father pressed as he leaned back in his chair.

Sansa bit her bottom lip, knowing for certain that he would be in attendance at the homecoming mixer. Sighing, Sansa nodded her head and shrugged her shoulders.

"Dad, I really can't help that. I can't hide from him. I have to attend certain events for Tri Delta, and if he happens to be there, what am I supposed to do?" Before he could answer, Sansa cocked her head to the side and regarded him with sincerity.

"Everything will be fine. I can promise you I won't be alone with him again. If I do run into him, it will be with tons of people around."

Nodding his head, her father seemed mollified for the moment.

"Alright," he conceded with a tense smile. "If you say so. Well, I've got to get back to work. See you tonight at dinner? Your mother is making pot roast. She's been carrying on about it all week."

Giggling, Sansa lifted herself to her feet and nodded her head. With her stomach still grumbling, pot roast sounded divine.

"You bet! I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Oh! One more thing," her father called out right as she reached the door. Turning around, Sansa waited for him to continue. "The Hardyng's are coming for dinner on Saturday. Your mom is really looking forward to it and wants you to be there."

Sansa considered her dad with suspicious eyes as she cocked her head to the side.

"Is Mom requesting Arya's presence as well, or is it just mine?" She watched as her dad held up his hands in acquiescence.

"Don't shoot the messenger!" he chuckled. "I'm just saying she's really excited about finally having the Hardyng's over for dinner."

"This is about Harry, isn't it?" Sansa pressed. Her mother had,, rather obviously, favored Harry over Joffrey even though Sansa had repeatedly reminded her mom that she wasn't interested in Harry. Still, the woman was convinced that all it would take was getting Harry and her in a room together for sparks to fly.

Sansa watched as her dad sheepishly shrugged his shoulders, the conversation ending as his office phone began to ring. She waved goodbye and headed out of his office.

On the elevator ride down to the parking garage, her thoughts were once more invaded with the unsavory memories of her relationship with Joff. They had known each other since the age of eleven when Sansa and her family had moved from Duluth, Minnesota south to Chicago so her father could take the job at Robert's firm. She remembered thinking Joff was a spitting image of Leif Garrett from the covers of her _Tiger Beat_ magazines. Many nights, she would pray that Joffrey would be her boyfriend, and from the age of sixteen on, it seemed the heavens had answered her prayers. Arya had always hated Joffrey and was never shy about vocalizing that hatred. _If only I would have listened to my sister…_

As it stood, Arya had better luck in finding good guys. Her sister's first boyfriend, Gendry, was leaps and bounds better than her own first boyfriend. Perhaps she could take a page from her sister's book after all. _And what might that look like? _

_Sandor. _

Unbidden, his name and image flashed across Sansa's mind as she climbed back into her Volvo. No. It was ridiculous. He was uncouth and foul-mouthed. Even now, she could hear his voice, deep and rough, in her head - the way he seemed to say whatever he wanted, regardless of how crude or inappropriate. He was in a metal band and had been wasted the first night she met him. In fact, he didn't seem to remember much of their first conversation. Then there was the way he always looked at her, his stares lingering a bit longer than what was customary for casual and polite interactions. Instead, his eyes would remain steadfast on her with a brooding sort of intensity which still held a bit of curiosity despite the heaviness.

Perhaps more alarming than all of this combined was Sansa's own reaction to his behavior. She should be thoroughly offended and repulsed by him, but that wasn't the case. She too found there to be something intriguing about him. It had been nearly a week since she saw him last, and yet her thoughts seemed to wander to him in quiet moments. They were fleeting and quickly replaced by other, more pressing matters. Truth be told, Sansa purposefully steered her thoughts away from him.

On paper, he wasn't her type, not in the least. However, Sansa knew she had already dated her "type": pretty rich boys who drove nice cars, dressed immaculately, and came from well-to-do families. She had thought Joff was her type, and for all intents and purposes was her type, but that had been a disaster.

_Maybe I could date someone like Sandor…_

The thought was absurd. Although she would never admit it to anyone out loud, it was a bit enthralling as well.

Shaking her head, Sansa sighed to herself as she backed her car out of the parking space and pulled out of the garage, which was situated on a one-way street. Sansa pursed her lips as she tried to visualize the layout of this part of town. She would have to circle around the block to catch the nearest exit that led back towards campus.

When she reached the end of the block, Sansa noticed the cross street was blocked off to traffic, as construction crews and their equipment occupied the entirety of the road. The cars in front of her were in a dead lock, all trying to maneuver themselves away from the construction zone and towards potential detours. Shifting her eyes around the area, Sansa saw detour signs leading her further south down the road she was on.

She chewed her bottom lip as she saw the time steadily creeping towards a quarter past one. At this rate, she might just barely make her second class. However, that hope steadily diminished as the detour led her further and further towards the south side of town. One by one, the cars in front of her had seemed to turn off on various side streets, ignoring the detour signs and seeking their own path towards their destinations. With each passing block, the streets became less familiar to her, and the area seemed to become seedier. When she no longer spotted detour signs, Sansa concluded that she must have missed a turn, perhaps too preoccupied with the dilapidated buildings which now surrounded either side of the street.

When it was apparent that she would have to turn around and head back in the direction she had come, Sansa turned onto a side street and pulled into a driveway. She shifted the car into reverse and backed out carefully to avoid an enormous pothole situated at the end of the driveway. Once out of the driveway, she threw the car into first gear, content to take out her frustration on the shift stick. The car lurched forward before coming to an abrupt halt, the engine having been killed as her foot slipped off the clutch. She turned the keys in the ignition and waited for the car to turn on. However, nothing happened. Normally, the car at least made an attempt to turn over. This time there was dead silence coming from under the hood.

In a panic, Sansa scanned her surroundings. She had landed herself in a sketchy part of town, the nearest gas station a few blocks away. She swallowed hard and took deep breaths to calm herself. _I'll just walk to a gas station and call someone. No big deal. _With that thought, Sansa snatched up her bag and pulled the keys from the ignition.

With quickened paces, she headed towards the gas station, her eyes cautiously taking in her surroundings as she went. When she reached the payphone on the side of the minimart, Sansa dug in her bag and pulled out her wallet. She sifted through the coins inside, fingering past pennies and a lone nickel but coming across no dimes. If she wasn't so resolved to get this situation taken care of, Sansa could have burst into tears; tears of frustration and tears of anger. She _knew _she should have had her damn car looked at before now.

As an old woman shuffled past her to pay for her gas, Sansa called out, the tone of her voice pleading.

"Excuse me, ma'am," she spoke. "Would you happen to have a dime? My car broke down and I need to call someone."

The woman did not speak, but instead shoved her hand in her pocket and removed a few coins. Picking out a dime, she handed it to Sansa with a small smile and walked away. Only now did it occur to Sansa that she did not know her father's office number by heart. It was written down in her address book which was sitting on her dresser at home. With Arya at school and her mother at the doctor's office with Rickon, Sansa's options were quickly dwindling. What's more, she only had one phone call she could make. Furrowing her brow, Sansa stared at the dime in the palm of her hand. In an instant, Sandor's words flooded her mind.

_'If you ever need any maintenance, or if you just want to go for a ride.'_

With renewed resolve, Sansa tore through her wallet, remembering she had put his card in there and hoping to God that it was still in the same place. After thumbing through the other cards, she finally came upon it.

Picking up the receiver and pushing the dime into the pay phone, Sansa dialed the number to Selmy's Auto Repair. With each ring, she could feel the steady rising of her heart beat until a deep voice answered on the other end.


	4. Animal

**Thunderstruck**

Chapter Four

"And I want and I need  
And I lust animal"

-_Animal_, Def Leppard

* * *

Sandor was elbow-deep in the engine of a Pontiac when the shop phone began to ring over the sound of Eddie Van Halen's guitar solo blaring from the radio. By the third ring, he had shifted his gaze through the large window which separated the front of the shop from the garage. Selmy was behind the counter, still haggling with the son-of-bitch trying to talk him down in price on a full transmission repair. To his right, the other mechanic, Lenny, was fitting a tire to a rim and blissfully ignoring the phone.

Cursing beneath his breath, Sandor carefully removed his arms from beneath the hood and wiped his hands on the front of his pants, although it hardly eliminated all the grease smeared across his fingers. When he reached the wall, he snatched up the phone and pushed the receiver to his ear.

"Selmy's Auto Repair. Sandor speaking," he grumbled, more curt than Barristan would have been happy with and his agitation glaringly apparent. His expertise was in maintenancing cars, not customer service. He left that bullshit up to Selmy who was leaps and bounds better at smoothing over issues with customers.

"Sandor?"

The voice on the other end faltered, seeming to pick up on his irritation easily enough. The receiver nearly slipped from his greasy fingers. Sansa's voice was uniquely feminine, her words swathed in sweetness.

"Yeah?" he questioned back.

"This is Sansa," she stated hesitantly, as if certain she would have to remind him who she was.

It had been over a week since he last saw her, but she had invaded his thoughts on multiple occasions since then. He tried to put her out of his mind as he went through the motions of oil changes, tune ups, and tire rotations during the day. Somehow, she had burrowed herself into his memory - something which both exhilarated and vexed him.

When he did not respond right away, Sansa continued, her voice still heavy with uncertainty.

"You know, the girl who came to your band practice last week."

Smiling into the phone, Sandor said nothing as she continued once more.

"My sister was with me. And her boyfriend, Gendry." Sansa's tone had become softer, and her words inflected at the end so that her statements sounded more like questions.

"Hmm. I don't know. Doesn't ring a bell. Are you sure you have the right number?" Sandor questioned, feigning confusion. He stifled a chuckle as Sansa sighed into the phone with exasperation.

"I was the one with red hair," she offered shyly.

"I meet so many redheads…" Sandor let his voice trail off and waited for Sansa's response.

"You gave me a ride home on your motorcycle. Remember? I live in Winnetka." By now, her voice had become pleading and her disheartenment obvious. With that, Sandor decided to give up the charade.

"Oh! Sansa. That's right. The sorority girl. Now I remember." He could have sworn he heard a tiny sigh of relief on her end before she began again.

"Yeah. Hi. You gave me your card, and as it so happens, my car completely gave out on me just now," Sansa informed. He felt bad for her, he really did. However, Sandor couldn't help the wicked grin which spread across his face at the realization that she was calling him for help.

"Where are you? Are you with the car?" he queried, leaning against the wall with one arm crossed about his chest. In the background, he could hear the din of traffic traveling through the receiver. It sounded as if she was outside, stranded more than likely.

"Yes. Well…no," she replied, obviously flustered. "I'm at a gas station a few blocks from the car. I'm in kind of a rough area of town on the south side."

Wordlessly, Sandor nodded his head, the grin somehow disappearing from his lips.

"Alright. Tell me where you are, and I'll come and get you. Then I can take a look at the car."

Supporting the phone between his shoulder and chin, Sandor reached towards the workbench adjacent to him and snatched up a pen and a scrap of paper. As Sansa relayed her location, Sandor scribbled it down and tried to mentally locate what part of the city she was in. True to her word, it was a shitty part of town and nowhere for the likes of her to be.

"Okay. Stay at the gas station. I'll be there in a few minutes," Sandor spoke into the phone before hanging up and grabbing the keys to the shop's tow truck.

He was familiar with the area Sansa was stranded in. Years ago, he had played gigs at a hole-in-the-wall venue a few blocks north. During the day, there was nothing much to worry about, perhaps a few bums panhandling for spare change. By night, though, it was a different story.

Peeking his head through the glass door separating the front desk from the garage, Sandor called out to Barristan who had finally rid himself of his pesky customer and looked none too pleased about the whole ordeal.

"I got a call for a tow down on the south side," Sandor informed blankly. "I'll be back in a bit. The serpentine belt is about shot on the Pontiac, and they should probably look into flushing their brake fluid."

Barristan nodded his head and offered a distracted smile as his eyes wandered back towards the stack of paperwork in front of him. Taking that as his cue to leave, Sandor strode outside and towards the tow truck before hopping into the driver's seat.

The drive to the gas station Sansa was at took longer than he would have imagined. It seemed every asshole in town was out and about at this particular moment. Shaking his head, Sandor chuckled to himself, remembering clearly that he had considered giving Sansa his card a crap shoot. In all honesty, he hadn't expected to hear from her. She was a prep - a sorority girl who was well-to-do and probably had only paid him false courtesies through fake smiles. He had wholly expected her to drift away into obscurity, never to be heard from again. Sandor would have liked to say he could have cared less, but the truth was she had inexplicably crawled beneath his skin - an uncomfortable and disconcerting notion.

When he finally pulled into the small gas station situated amongst decrepit buildings with rotting facades, Sandor spotted Sansa sitting on the curb outside the mini-mart, knees pulled to her chest and chin resting on knees. At the sound of the diesel engine of the tow truck, her head popped up, her bright blue eyes flooding with relief as she pushed herself up from the curb and headed towards the passenger side door in quick steps.

Leaning over the seat next to him, Sandor pushed the door open and took Sansa's bag from her as she climbed into the truck. As she settled in the seat, Sandor couldn't help but steal a glance at her. Once again, his memory had diminished her beauty. The last time he had the effects of alcohol to blame. This time it had likely been the side effect of pushing her out of his mind every chance he could. She wasn't made up like most of the chicks that hung around the band always were. It was obvious the girl was naturally stunning, something which he found incredibly appealing.

"Thank you so much," she exhaled gratefully, her eyes considering him as if he were some sort of savior or perhaps her knight in shining armor. If that was the case, the girl was going to be solely disappointed. He certainly was no fucking knight.

"Just doing my job," he replied as he carefully maneuvered the truck in reverse.

As he turned over his shoulder to look out the rear window, Sandor's arm settled on the headrest of Sansa's seat. Although he was focused on getting the truck out of the parking lot without backing into a gas pump or another car, Sandor could see out of the periphery of his vision that she was staring at him. It wasn't the brazenly obvious leers he regarded her with, but rather manifested in shy glances which lingered a bit too long to be insignificant.

"You see something you like?" he mocked before pulling his arm away and putting the truck into drive. Sandor's gaze settled on Sansa just long enough to watch as her eyes darted away from him and her mouth fell open, the embarrassment obvious.

"No…I…" She stopped herself short of stammering, and Sandor remembered now how easily he could get her to blush. Her cheeks flushed with a bit of color as she turned to him.

"If you turn left, it's down the second street on the right," she spoke softly as she nervously twirled a lock of hair around a slender finger.

Wordlessly, Sandor nodded his head, noting how her hair fell in long waves over her shoulders. He didn't know jack shit about what women did to their hair, but he knew he preferred how Sansa wore hers compared to the way most girls teased the hell out of theirs and sprayed it with a fuck-ton of hairspray.

Silence continued between them as Sandor flicked on his blinker and waited for his opportunity to turn out of the gas station. He never paid much attention to lulls in conversation and could happily sit in silence with other people, not noticing whatever awkwardness others perceived. If the tension growing between him and Sansa was anything to go by, she was the opposite, and her discomfort at the quiet was made obvious as she began to speak.

"I hope it wasn't too much trouble coming to get me and all," she began almost apologetically and clearly failing to realize that it was his job to do shit like this. "I was coming from my dad's office downtown, and there was a detour. I'm not really familiar with this part of town, and I must have gotten turned around or missed a turn. Anyway, I just kept going and going, and then before I knew it, I was here. Obviously, I wouldn't think this would be part of the detour, so I decided to turn around and head back from the direction I came. When I did, I killed the engine, and then it just wouldn't come back on. I didn't have a dime on me to call anyone, so I had to ask this old woman for one. I figured you'd be the best person to call, and luckily I still had your card."

As Sansa finished her monologue, she took a deep breath, which seemed to loosen any residual nervousness. Gazing over at her, Sandor shook his head and exhaled a laugh as he pulled the truck out on the main road.

"What's so funny?" Sansa questioned as she turned her head towards him. Her auburn eyebrows knitted together in confusion, lips pursed to the extent of looking pouty. He had almost, _almost _forgotten about his fascination with her lips. This was enough to jar his memory as he watched her lick her bottom lip before offering him a timid smile.

"You're like one of those birds that sit outside my bedroom window and chirp their little heads off right before the sun starts to rise, which is usually about the time I'm finally getting to sleep."

It was meant to be a joke, a little jab at the fact that she was a nervous talker. However, his sentiment seemed to float over her head, and just like that, Sansa's smile faded away, and immediately she averted her eyes from him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I talk too much sometimes."

Sandor could have laughed again as she apologized to _him _after _he _had been a prick. He eased the tow truck in front of her car and put it into park.

With her head downturned, Sansa stared at her hands folded in her lap. Resting one elbow on the center console between them, Sandor cupped her chin with one hand and gently urged her to look at him. Without much prompting on his part, Sansa obliged, staring at him wide-eyed and with lips parted in surprise at his touch.

"It was a joke…little bird," Sandor affirmed with a grin and watched a small, relieved smile play across her lips before she lowered her gaze and blushed. He stared at her lips, toying with the wild idea of pressing his mouth to hers. She was close enough to him and hadn't shifted away. It would be purely impulsive and indulgent on his part. As moments passed, the tension was rising once more, statically charged with whatever flowed between them.

Sandor swallowed hard and decided to pull himself away before he did something stupid. He was on a job, after all. In quick, fluid movements, he pushed open the door and slid out of his truck. Sansa had followed him towards her car and popped open the hood as Sandor settled in front of it.

With the hood open in front of him, he instructed her to try to turn the car on. After a few unsuccessful tries, Sandor began investigating the usual suspects for an engine not firing up. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Sansa standing next to him - far enough away as to not interfere with his ministrations but close enough that he could see her watching him. This wasn't a curious gaze as his hands inspected various parts of the engine. And it wasn't a bored, glazed over stare as she waited for her car's diagnosis. No, she was staring and taking her chance to contemplate him as intently as he contemplated her, the only difference being he didn't care if she saw him doing it.

"I'm only going to keep letting you eye fuck me if you make good on it one of these days," Sandor chided, smiling devilishly as Sansa's gaze immediately shifted somewhere else, for all the good it did.

"I'm not eye-" she started, stopping herself short of repeating his words. "I'm not doing that. I'm just watching what you're doing to my car."

At that, Sandor let out a grumbling chuckle as he turned his head towards her. She was blushing again, her cheeks redder than he had ever seen them, as she appeared to be wholly scandalized by his suggestion.

"Bullshit. You don't know a damn thing about what I'm doing to your car."

Sansa's eyes flickered away once more as she crossed her arms about her chest. She seemed to be pouting, perhaps perturbed that she couldn't get away with leering at him as he could with her or maybe still embarrassed that he had caught her doing so.

"My best guess is it's the battery, a spark plug, or the transmission," Sandor announced as he stood up and closed the hood. "All in the order of how expensive it's going to be to repair. I'll tow it back to the shop. We're booked for the next few days, so the earliest I could look at it would be Monday."

"Okay," Sansa replied, biting her lip and appearing disappointed by the information he had given her. It was apparent she had hoped for a different answer. With today being Thursday, he didn't quite know what she expected. The shop was always busiest during the weekends, and he couldn't make an exception for her just because she was some rich girl or because he wouldn't mind fucking her.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, perhaps a bit too defensively. He fully expected her to complain about how long her car was going to be in the shop and maybe even ask him to do her a favor by looking at it sooner.

"My chemistry lab starts in fifteen minutes. I'm going to miss it," she answered regretfully, her gaze shifting to her watch.

Admittedly, he was surprised by her answer, not that he didn't think she was studious, but mostly because she wasn't bitching about her car. In fact, she didn't seem too concerned about it. Instead, she seemed more disappointed at missing her class.

Sandor never went to college, deciding academics were not in the cards for him. Instead, he had learned his trade as a mechanic, and in his down time, fucked around on the guitar. The success of Cannibal Star was never anything he chased after. It just happened. Regardless, even he knew missing one class wasn't the end of the fucking world and would hardly spell disaster for Sansa, especially given the fact that she had a legitimate excuse for skipping.

"Shit happens," Sandor shrugged, his attempt at making the girl feel better, although he knew it wasn't likely to provide her with any solace. "Chemistry lab sounds boring as fuck anyway. You're probably not missing much."

A slow smile crept across her lips as she stared up at him and gave a small nod of her head. She didn't let her eyes fall away, but instead continued to hold his gaze. Sandor wasn't sure if she was about to stay something or was waiting for a prompt from him. Either way, he found it was now he who was having a hard time in keeping his eyes on her. He felt the need to look away as the air between them grew heavy once more - not uncomfortable, but still unsettling in a way he wasn't quite used to.

"If you want to wait in the truck, I'll get your car hooked up," he said, looking away and cursing himself for doing so. There was no reason for him to be acting as if he had never been around a beautiful woman before. He had been around plenty, and never before had this bullshit happened.

Sandor didn't wait for Sansa's response, but instead stepped away from her, grateful now for some distraction as he went about getting her car hooked up to the truck. He went through the familiar motions. He had done this more times than he could count, and yet Sandor found himself having to repeat certain steps, his hands and mind clearly suffering from a disconnect.

Her effect on him was unnerving. In the past week, he had chalked it up to the fact that he needed to get laid. It was purely a primal reaction to a pretty girl. However, Cannibal Star's gigs never failed to produce an enclave of attractive women, a few of which he had indulged in, and he never caught himself thinking about them after the fact. He was left to wonder why Sansa was so different. He hadn't even kissed the girl, for fuck's sake.

When his task was done, Sandor climbed into the truck, his eyes focused on the road as he headed back towards the shop. He avoided her gaze, which was on him once more in sideways glances and curious stares. He decided it would be best to treat this like he would any other customer - distant, professional, only conversing when necessary and about vehicles only. If she wanted to ask him about her spark plugs, he would answer. Beyond that, he forced his eyes and thoughts to remain on the road.

They continued on in silence save for the low murmur of the radio. He could tell she was getting uncomfortable with his reticence and was likely to start chirping again soon. Before too long, he'd probably get caught up in answering questions like what his favorite color was, if he thought the Berlin Wall would ever come down, if the Blackhawks would go to the playoffs this year.

Although he knew little about Sansa, he knew enough to anticipate her questions and allowed himself a small smile when she finally broke the silence.

"How long have you been a mechanic?" she asked, shifting a glance towards him once more.

"Look, you don't have to do that," he replied flatly. It was better for both of them if he shut this down sooner rather than later. She didn't need to waste her manners on him, and he wouldn't have to suffer through questions she couldn't care less about the answers to.

"Do what?" she queried, her voice sounded dejected. "I was just asking a question."

Sandor's jaw tensed, and when they were stopped at a red light, he turned to look at her. She was already staring back at him incredulously.

"I don't like small talk for the sake of filling up dead air. You don't have to pretend you're interested in what the fuck it is I do with my life."

As soon as the words left his lips, Sandor knew they were uncalled for and held some sort of bitterness to them, although he wasn't exactly sure where it was coming from. Perhaps he was unwilling to let himself believe Sansa would actually give a shit about wanting to get to know him. He assumed questions like this were a product of her feeling as though she needed to be polite and nothing more.

He expected her to avert her eyes, to turn away and resume the ride in silence. Maybe she would pout after being called out, or perhaps she would get pissed and finally realize her manners were lost on him. Sansa did none of these things, and instead seemed to steel herself as she regarded him, unwilling to back down so easily against his biting words.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I am interested? Or are you always this rude?" Crossing her arms about her chest, she continued to stare at him as she awaited an answer. Sandor had come to expect a lot of things out of this girl - bouts of blushing, shy smiles, timid conversation - but this sudden flush of assertiveness was not one of them.

Now, it was he who was shocked into silence as he turned his attention back to the road when the light turned green. He felt like a jackass. It had, in fact, not exactly occurred to him that she might be genuinely interested. He wasn't a pretty boy jock she was probably used to running around with. He wasn't going to college. He wasn't from a wealthy background. Despite the relative fame of being in Cannibal Star, he lived a modest lifestyle. Though loath to admit it, Sansa was out of his league in more ways than one.

Despite all of this, it seemed he was making a bigger deal out of it than she was. Feeling his guard coming down a bit, Sandor sighed as he cast a glance towards Sansa.

"Twelve years," he responded quietly. "I went to trade school after getting my GED. After two years of that, I started working at Selmy's shop off and on for the past ten years."

The admission dated him, Sandor knew. That may very well be another thing working against them. He was about to turn thirty this year, and she probably wasn't even old enough to drink yet.

Sansa remained quiet as she stared straight ahead with her arms still crossed defensively about her chest. As the silence wore on between them, Sandor was now beginning to feel uncomfortable. Before, he didn't care if the conversation was minimal. With each passing moment of Sansa not uttering a word, Sandor began to feel as though he had blown it. Only minutes earlier, she was happily willing to engage in conversation. Now she had practically turned into an ice queen - stoic, unwavering, and utterly quiet.

"What are you studying in school?" Sandor grumbled. He knew she heard him; from the corner of his eye he could see her stir in her seat. He waited for a response, and when he did not get one, he found it aggravated him much more than it should have.

"Are you not going to answer me?" he demanded, feeling his frustration rising. She was the one who wanted to make small talk in the first place, and now she was purposely blowing him off.

"Apologize first," Sansa replied haughtily as she stared out the window, refusing to meet his eyes.

"What?" Sandor snapped in response, his head whipping around to level an irritated stare at her.

"For being rude," Sansa calmly informed as she turned to look at him, her chin tipped up ever so slightly as she held her head high. "You should apologize."

At that, Sandor erupted into sardonic laughter as he shook his head. This girl was out of her mind if she thought he was going to apologize to her. He refused to apologize for being honest, for calling out the fact that she was baiting him into conversations she couldn't give a shit about at the end of the day. Perhaps there was a chance that he may have been wrong, but that was beside the point, and his pride wouldn't let him admit that now.

"No," he retorted adamantly. "I answered your question. You got what you wanted." Sandor pulled the tow truck behind the back of Selmy's shop where he spotted an empty space for Sansa's car.

"And now I want an apology," Sansa reasoned firmly. Once more, Sandor was taken aback. She was stubborn, almost as stubborn as he was. This was shaping up to be a battle of wills.

Putting the truck into park, Sandor turned towards her. He saw the beginnings of a smile forming on her lips as her eyes shone playfully. Nodding his head slightly as he narrowed his eyes at her, Sandor returned her smile with a smug grin. When he killed the engine of the truck, silence crept between them once more.

Sandor took the opportunity to let his gaze roam the features of her face. He considered her eyes, which were a brilliant shade of blue, large and round; her nose, delicate and upturned at the end; her lips, full and ripe for the taking. Slowly, Sandor leaned closer towards her, his upper body hovering over the center console as one arm reached across, and his hand settled on the arm rest next to the passenger side door.

In the periphery of his vision, Sandor could see the rise and fall of Sansa's chest. His stare was fixated on her lips, the object of his fascination, and he noticed how they parted with what he could only call anticipation. Lifting her chin, Sansa tilted her head slightly, making her lips all the more accessible to him. The space between them was mere inches and filled with mutual exhilaration as Sandor matched her eyes and lowered his voice.

"You want an apology, do you?" he murmured close to her lips, eliciting a shudder to move through her. "Well, little bird, we can't always get what we want. Maybe it's about time someone teach you that."

Sandor's hand gripped the door handle on her side as he pulled away from her slightly. She was blushing furiously, as he knew she would be, but he hadn't expected to see the desire, and now disappointment, lingering in her eyes.

"Here. I'll get that for you," Sandor announced as he pushed her door open, smiling deviously.

Pulling the keys from the ignition, Sandor hopped out of the truck and circled around to the back to begin unhooking Sansa's car. Smiling to himself, Sandor shook his head. The look on her face had been priceless - confusion, embarrassment, and dare he say, devastation at the abrupt halt to what she had anticipated from him. The girl couldn't actually think he would kiss her right then and there with his co-workers and boss meandering about somewhere. No, if he was going to finally claim her mouth, as he so badly wanted to, it would be at the right place and time; somewhere where they wouldn't be interrupted, he could give her lips all the attention they deserved. Besides, it was a lot more than just a kiss he wanted to give her.

After a few moments, Sansa circled around to the back of the truck, her bag thrown over her shoulder and her hands folded in front of her. She was still flushed a deep shade of pink, and her eyes fell to her feet.

"I'll see if my dad can come and pick me up. Is there a phone I can use?" Sansa asked, her eyes flickering up towards him although not remaining on him for long. "Also, if you have a phone book as well, that would be great."

With his hands preoccupied with her car, Sandor motioned his head towards the shop.

"Head right through that side door, and the lobby is straight ahead. Whoever is behind the desk can let you use the phone and give you a phone book to use."

Staring up at him, Sansa nodded her head and gave a small, grateful smile before turning away. After unrigging Sansa's car and maneuvering it into the empty parking space, Sandor returned the tow truck to its spot behind Selmy's shop and headed inside.

With a phone book and the phone resting on the counter of the front desk, Sansa had the receiver pushed to her ear, her brow furrowed as she twirled and untwirled the phone cord around her finger. Behind the desk, Lenny had propped up his feet and was nose deep in a magazine. As Sandor came around the back of the counter, Lenny lowered the magazine and waggled his eyebrows before discreetly motioning his head towards Sansa.

Sandor followed the man's gaze, thankful that the girl hadn't seen. The last thing Sansa needed was Lenny leering at her. Sandor could manage that just fine on his own.

"Get lost," Sandor grumbled at Lenny through narrowed eyes. The man lowered his magazine and retreated towards the garage. Grabbing a pen, Sandor began filling out the paperwork for Sansa's car. With his shift for today almost over, the rest of it could be filled out later. In front of him, Sansa sighed as she gently hung up the phone receiver.

"I can't get a hold of anyone," she informed quietly. "My dad left early from work, and my mom isn't at home."

Without lifting his eyes, Sandor continued filling out the paperwork as he tried in earnest to quell the grin that was forming on his lips.

"So you'll be needing a ride, I take it," he declared flatly as shuffled through the folders on the desk and placed Sansa's paperwork into the Monday file.

"Yes, if you don't mind," she replied on a soft voice, clearly disconcerted by her situation.

"Just can't get enough, can you?" Sandor japed as he tossed the folder in his hands on top of a short stack of paperwork in front of him. Sansa let out a nervous giggle in response as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, I'll give you a ride, if you say please," Sandor announced arrogantly, crossing his arms about his chest as he gauged her reaction. Wide-eyed, Sansa's gaze flew up to him, her mouth opening and then closing as if she couldn't quite manage a response. "Wouldn't want to be rude now, would you?" he continued with a grin.

"You can't be serious," Sansa exhaled with a laugh as she stared at him in disbelief.

Uncrossing his arms and pressing his hands to the counter, Sandor leaned towards her as he matched her eyes and lowered his voice.

"You can't imagine how serious I am about giving you a ride and making you say please."

Once more, Sandor knew he was toting the line with this girl. Eventually, he was going to cross that line, and she was going to either deck him like she should have the first night he met her or tell him to take a hike. And once more, Sandor was surprised when she did neither. Instead, she pressed her lips together, stopping her own smile from emerging, and shook her head.

"You're terrible," Sansa whispered, laughing once more. The girl had a sense of humor and seemed to take his outlandish and inappropriate statements in stride.

"I'm just being honest," Sandor countered with a shrug of the shoulders. "Now, say please."

"Please," she responded reluctantly, her lips inadvertently pouty as she stared up at him.

Sandor had to give it to her: she was damn near irresistible like this and hard to say no to, not that he was planning on denying her what she needed right now. Still, he knew it would be dangerous if she knew how easily she could get what she wanted out of him by a small pouting of her lips and a doe-eyed stare.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, realizing now he hadn't had time to eat lunch and his stomach was descending into grumbles. Beyond that, he wouldn't exactly mind extending this impromptu run-in with Sansa.

"Yeah, I am actually," she nodded her head, her eyes alight as she smiled up at him.

"Me too. We'll get a bite on the way," Sandor offered as he grabbed up his leather jacket and bike helmet.

"It'll be on me," he continued as she met him at the end of the counter.

Standing in front him, Sansa quirked an eyebrow at him, arms crossed about her chest as she stared up at him expectantly.

"You can call it an apology of sorts," Sandor conceded with a half-smile before leading the way out the door and towards his Harley in the parking lot.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you to mendedheart, my beta, for turning out these chapters quickly! She is magic come to life!

And thank you all for the wonderful reviews, follows, and favorites! I really appreciate it so much :)

My tumblr is no more, but you can check for progress updates on this fic and my other fics on my live journal (dragonsupernova).


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